


Ink in my Coffee

by CS_WhiteWolf



Series: Infinite Ink [1]
Category: Prison Break, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Piercings, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CS_WhiteWolf/pseuds/CS_WhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the mysterious Michael Schofield turns up at the Torchwood Tattoo & Piercing Studio with an elaborate design he wants tattooed onto the entire upper half of his body, tattoo artist Ianto Jones wastes no time in accepting the challenge to ink the design exactly as Michael has envisioned.</p><p>The hours Ianto and Michael find themselves spending together in close proximity as Ianto works his magic with the needle, soon bleeds into the after hours, where needle on skin is replaced by skin on skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [[here](http://cs-whitewolf.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20series%3A%20ink%20in%20my%20coffee)] on LiveJournal.
> 
> Many thanks to krazykipper for the beta, and to erin_giles for the amazing [[FanArt](http://community.livejournal.com/tearstolaughter/40197.html)] she created for this story.

  
The humming of the tattoo machine echoed around the room, a consistent sound above the silence otherwise dominating the small cubical of Gwen’s workstation, as she finished inking the last and final part of his design. The intricate twenty-four specifically created pieces of the tattoo finally finding completeness as they covered the entire upper half of his body.  


  
Michael watched her work, his belly cramping with a mixture of dread and anticipation as she finally pulled the needle away, dabbing at the horned image now decorating his left shoulder with a wad of wet tissue before she sat back, exhaling heavily.  


  
“That’s it.” Gwen said, sounding slightly awed. “Can I… you know, look at it for a minute?”  


  
Michael smiled softly. “You’re an artist,” he agreed, watching her as she admired the completed piece. It had taken many months, not just in time spent getting the tattoo inked into his skin, but in the planning and preparation behind it; every motif, every line and contour and area of shading had been calculated and methodically arranged to hide the image behind the image. And now it was finished. Everything was in place.  


  
“You’re telling me you’re just going to walk out here and we’re never going to see you again?” Gwen asked after a long moment. She dragged her gaze from his chest, meeting his eyes with something akin to despair.  


  
“There’s a good chance of that, yes.” Michael agreed, breathing deeply.  


  
“Most guys, for the first time, start with something small. Mom, girlfriend’s initials-,” Michael raised an eyebrow. Gwen smiled mischievously at him, “-something like that,” she added with a shrug, “but not you. You get a full set of sleeves all in a couple of months.”  


  
She looked at Michael, raising her eyebrows as if in the hopes that now- here at the end of all things- he’d finally explain the reasoning behind getting the tattoo. She’d spent many weeks trying to pry the information out of him- why this design? Why now? Why the rush?- all these questions and more besides left unanswered.  


  
“It takes most guys a few years to get these done,” Gwen added after a moment. Michael gave her one of his looks.  


  
“I don’t have a few years,” he said, reaching for his shirt. “Wish to hell I did.” He hoped that last part didn’t sound nearly as bitter as he thought it might have. Gwen’s eyes widened fractionally at the implication of his words but Michael didn’t elaborate.  


  
“Is that why you didn’t want Ianto to finish this up?” Gwen tried, leaning away from Michael once more. She kept her eyes on him as she removed her gloves, easily lobbing them into the waste disposal bin beside her chair.  


  
“He’s been your artist from the start,” she prompted. Michael said nothing. He pulled his shirt up over his shoulders, tugging it into place before fastening the buttons with quick and nimble fingers.  


  
“You’ll thank him for me, won’t you?” Michael looked expectantly at her as he slipped off the bed.  


  
She nodded with a frown, “of course.”  


  
Michael smiled. “And thank you. And everyone else here too,” he hesitated for just a moment before reaching into his pants' pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.  


  
It was intricately folded, Gwen noted, watching as Michael opened out two of the flaps before sitting it on the bed he’d just vacated.  


  
“It’s a bird!” She exclaimed, vaguely recognising the shape of the origami piece.  


  
“A crane,” Michael clarified. “Give it to Ianto?”  


  
Gwen’s smile faded a little but she nodded, standing. In a moment of impulse she stepped forward and grabbed Michael into a quick hug, kissing his cheek softly as she pulled away.  


  
“You take care of yourself, Michael Schofield.” She warned with a seriousness that made his throat close up. All he could do was nod and smile and leave without once looking back.  



	2. Prologue.

  
The humming of the tattoo machine echoed around the room, a consistent sound above the silence otherwise dominating the small cubical of Gwen’s workstation, as she finished inking the last and final part of his design. The intricate twenty-four specifically created pieces of the tattoo finally finding completeness as they covered the entire upper half of his body.  


  
Michael watched her work, his belly cramping with a mixture of dread and anticipation as she finally pulled the needle away, dabbing at the horned image now decorating his left shoulder with a wad of wet tissue before she sat back, exhaling heavily.  


  
“That’s it.” Gwen said, sounding slightly awed. “Can I… you know, look at it for a minute?”  


  
Michael smiled softly. “You’re an artist,” he agreed, watching her as she admired the completed piece. It had taken many months, not just in time spent getting the tattoo inked into his skin, but in the planning and preparation behind it; every motif, every line and contour and area of shading had been calculated and methodically arranged to hide the image behind the image. And now it was finished. Everything was in place.  


  
“You’re telling me you’re just going to walk out here and we’re never going to see you again?” Gwen asked after a long moment. She dragged her gaze from his chest, meeting his eyes with something akin to despair.  


  
“There’s a good chance of that, yes.” Michael agreed, breathing deeply.  


  
“Most guys, for the first time, start with something small. Mom, girlfriend’s initials-,” Michael raised an eyebrow. Gwen smiled mischievously at him, “-something like that,” she added with a shrug, “but not you. You get a full set of sleeves all in a couple of months.”  


  
She looked at Michael, raising her eyebrows as if in the hopes that now- here at the end of all things- he’d finally explain the reasoning behind getting the tattoo. She’d spent many weeks trying to pry the information out of him- why this design? Why now? Why the rush?- all these questions and more besides left unanswered.  


  
“It takes most guys a few years to get these done,” Gwen added after a moment. Michael gave her one of his looks.  


  
“I don’t have a few years,” he said, reaching for his shirt. “Wish to hell I did.” He hoped that last part didn’t sound nearly as bitter as he thought it might have. Gwen’s eyes widened fractionally at the implication of his words but Michael didn’t elaborate.  


  
“Is that why you didn’t want Ianto to finish this up?” Gwen tried, leaning away from Michael once more. She kept her eyes on him as she removed her gloves, easily lobbing them into the waste disposal bin beside her chair.  


  
“He’s been your artist from the start,” she prompted. Michael said nothing. He pulled his shirt up over his shoulders, tugging it into place before fastening the buttons with quick and nimble fingers.  


  
“You’ll thank him for me, won’t you?” Michael looked expectantly at her as he slipped off the bed.  


  
She nodded with a frown, “of course.”  


  
Michael smiled. “And thank you. And everyone else here too,” he hesitated for just a moment before reaching into his pants' pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.  


  
It was intricately folded, Gwen noted, watching as Michael opened out two of the flaps before sitting it on the bed he’d just vacated.  


  
“It’s a bird!” She exclaimed, vaguely recognising the shape of the origami piece.  


  
“A crane,” Michael clarified. “Give it to Ianto?”  


  
Gwen’s smile faded a little but she nodded, standing. In a moment of impulse she stepped forward and grabbed Michael into a quick hug, kissing his cheek softly as she pulled away.  


  
“You take care of yourself, Michael Schofield.” She warned with a seriousness that made his throat close up. All he could do was nod and smile and leave without once looking back.  



	3. Two.

  
The small bell above the door chimed his entrance as he stepped into the shop, juggling a leather-bound folder, a tray of Starbucks coffee and a box of custard donuts he’d picked up on his way into work.  


  
“Morning,” Toshiko greeted, looking rather prim and proper for nine o’clock on a Monday morning as she glanced up from her position behind the reception desk and the laptop she was typing away on.  


  
“Morning, Tosh,” Ianto returned with a smile as he made his way towards the reception desk to unload his arms.  


  
“How was Wales?” Toshiko asked, nimbly swiping one of the coffee’s from the tray before Ianto had even finished setting it down.  


  
“Wet. Cold. _Home_ ,” he answered with a slightly wistful look on his face before smiling. “But it’s good to be back,” he said, brushing his hands over his suit jacket- it was dark pinstripe in pattern and rather ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ in style- as if in an attempt to dislodge any stray flakes of lint.  


  
Toshiko raised one delicately shaped eyebrow before leaning forward enough to peer over the counter, her eyes roaming the length of Ianto’s body. “The ‘ _Cute Suit_ ’, Ianto?”  


  
“A little bird told me that Jack managed to break the coffee machine whilst I was away.” Ianto said by way of answer. Toshiko grinned, nodding her head emphatically.  


  
“You’re such a tease.” She laughed, her eyes bright as she sipped from her coffee.  


  
“You wound me, Tosh!” Ianto exclaimed, lifting the tray of coffees and starting towards the back rooms. “How can you think I’d be so petty as to make our revered Captain watch me walk around all day in a suit that plays havoc on his libido?”  


  
Toshiko laughed again, waving her hand in a ‘shooing’ motion at Ianto. “He’s in his stall, working on Gwen.” Was all she said in answer to _that_ comment before turning back to her laptop and returning to whatever project she’d previously been working on.  


  
Ianto grinned widely a moment before schooling his features and slipping silently through towards the workrooms. He could hear the familiar humming of the tattoo iron going from Jack’s section and made a bee-line towards his boss’ cubicle. The humming stopped just as he entered the room and he watched from the doorway as Jack wiped at the foot he’d been inking before setting about the cleaning and disposing of his tools.  


  
“Ianto Jones, you are a lifesaver!” Jack exclaimed without turning and Ianto smiled at the other man’s back, silently admiring the view of Jack in his tight black vest- his broad shoulders bared and begging to be ogled as they displayed the thick tribal ink work that spread out across the top-half of his back and shoulders.  


  
“I’ve been known to pull the odd miracle or two, sir.” Ianto answered lightly, his lips twitching with amusement as he saw Jack’s body tense just so at the honorific. Oh yes, he knew he was in trouble.  


  
He dutifully held out a cup of coffee for Jack when the older man turned to look at him, the smile on his face freezing momentarily as he came face to face with Ianto and his figure hugging suit, his eyes drinking in every possible inch of Ianto as they ran over his body in deliberate swipes.  


  
Ianto, for his own part, took the time to eye Jack back; drinking in the sight of the Captain as he allowed his eyes to roam openly over Jack’s black slack and tank-top combination. A dark grey shirt was slung casually over the bench behind him and the braces he wore more often than not were hanging loosely at his hips. Ianto wet his lips slightly, dragging his eyes up to roam over Jack’s face, from the high brow- the left eyebrow pierced twice whilst the right was left unmarred- down the length of his aquiline nose to the curve of his lips, suddenly full and smiling as Jack reached out to take the proffered coffee from Ianto’s hand.  


  
“Didn’t I ban you from wearing that suit?” Jack asked, finally finding his voice after a long and drawn out moment.  


  
“Did you, sir?” Ianto asked innocently. He leant casually up against the doorway, scanning Jack’s face with just the barest hints of a smirk on his face.  


  
“I’m pretty sure I did,” he answered with an exaggerated narrowing of the eyes before moving to sip at his coffee and proceeding to moan loudly and obscenely with the first sip of his caffeine laced beverage.  


  
“Oh god, marry me, won’t you?” Jack asked licking his lips with long swipes of his tongue. Ianto grinned, shaking his head. Another, softer moan issued from the piercing table beside Jack and, distracted, Ianto looked over, noticing for the first time the young woman who lay upon it. Gwen Cooper looked comatose, her naturally pale face appearing a few shades lighter than Ianto was used to seeing it, and the heavy-lidded kohl of her eye makeup only enhanced the pastiness of her complexion.  


  
“Is she alright?” Ianto asked, nodding towards Gwen with a frown.  


  
“I told him to stop.” Owen Harper appeared suddenly beside him, snatching a coffee cup from him without so much as a grunt of appreciation. Ianto frowned at him.Owen, it seemed, was going for the _just rolled out of bed_ look with his faded band tee and washed out jeans combo; the denim tight but comfortable and disturbingly good looking as it clung to all the right places when he bent over Gwen, poking her none-too-gently in the side in a bid to bring her back to consciousness.  


  
“It’s against regulations to keep tattooing if a client passes out. But would he listen?” Owen sneered in Jack’s direction, before laughing and dancing aside as Jack tried to whack at him.  


  
“Jack-,” Ianto gaped at him but Jack waved a hand to shush him.  


  
“She won’t mind,” Jack defended, standing and prodding Gwen in the side until she groaned again, rousing herself to wakefulness. “In fact, I think she’ll be rather pleased I kept going. You know how sensitive she gets with her feet.”  


  
“I’m rather surprised she agreed to let you near them at all,” Ianto commented, stepping further into the room so that he could better view the spreading lotus flower Jack had etched across the bottom half of her foot. Ianto silently handed the last cup of coffee to Jack to give to Gwen once he’d aided her in sitting upright. She took the coffee with a muttered thanks.  


  
“What do you think?” Jack asked moving to brush shoulders with him. Gwen peered down at her foot, her dour expression suddenly lighting as he gasped her surprise.  


  
“You finished it!” She exclaimed with obvious delight. “Oh, Jack, it’s _gorgeous_!” She shimmied off the bed. “I have to show this to Tosh, she’s going to love it!”  


  
She paused long enough to kiss Jack soundly on the lips in thanks before turning to Ianto and pressing a softer kiss of welcome to his cheek. “Thanks for the coffee, Ianto. It’s been hellish without you!”  


  
And then she was gone, laughing and calling out for Tosh.  


  
“Take it easy!” Jack yelled after her, laughing.  


  
Ianto smiled fondly, shaking his head. Jack nudged him. “What do you think?”  


  
“I kind of like it,” he agreed. Jack shot him a frown.  


  
“You _kind of_ like it?” He said, offended. Ianto rolled his eyes. “Ianto Jones you besmirch my talent! I poured all my blood and sweat into that piece and-,”  


  
“I rather hope you’re speaking metaphorically, sir,” Ianto interrupted, “you know how anal I am about hygiene.”  


  
Jack scowled at him. “If you’re going to be like that I think you should take a few more days leave.”  


  
“I brought donuts?” He offered in a bid to soothe Jack’s pout away.  


  
Jack crossed his arms defensively. “My forgiveness cannot be won over with coffee and donuts, Mr Jones.”  


  
“Not even those special custard donuts you’re so fond of?” Ianto went for a surprised tone, pressing his hand to his chest in mock shock. “Well then, Mr Harkness, I shall just have to dispose of them!”  


  
He turned on his heel, making as if to leave the room when suddenly Jack’s arms were slipping about his waist and lifting him from his feet. He was hugged to Jack’s chest and spun widely. Ianto tried his hardest not to squeal with the gesture but suspected he failed most miserably when Owen started guffawing.  


  
“Jack!” He yelped out, clutching at Jack’s hands 'til the Captain finally lowered him to his feet, laughing puffs of air against Ianto’s neck even as he kept tight hold of him.  


  
“You want to be careful, Jack,” Owen piped up, grinning as he took in Ianto’s flustered face, “else you’ll be getting another reminder of proper conduct expected in the workplace!”  


  
Jack reluctantly released him, smacking him lightly on the arse as Ianto stepped away. Ianto managed to contain his yelp of outrage as he turned to glare at Jack.  


  
“Make it the one on sexual harassment, won’t you Ianto? I prefer those ones.” Jack grinned widely at him.  


  
“You’re incorrigible!” Ianto groaned, making it back to the safety of the door. “See if I bring you coffee again.” He threatened before squealing and fleeing the room as Jack made an aborted lunge for him. He could hear Jack and Owen all but busting their guts with laughter as he hurried away.  


  
\- - -  


  
“Only the one appointment for you today,” Toshiko said, as Ianto stepped up to the reception desk. She ran an expertly manicured finger down the length of the appointment book, and Ianto noted that today her nails were painted a deep red, flecks of gold painstakingly drawn atop the bold colour in a series of what looked to be miniature Chinese characters.  


  
“A guy by the name of Michael Schofield?” She continued as if expecting Ianto to recognise the name.  


  
Ianto looked up from her hands and shook his head negatively; the name didn’t ring any bells with him.  


  
“Well he asked for you personally,” Toshiko continued. “I’ve got him in the book as coming in around seven this evening. I know it’s a bit late with this being your first day back and all, but Jack’s already agreed to stay on after shop closes so that you can consult with Mr Schofield.”  


  
Ianto huffed a dramatic sigh, pressing the back of his wrist to his forehead. “Oh, Tosh, however shall I cope with such a workload?” He bemoaned through an infectiously wide grin.  


  
“I’m sure you’ll survive.” She laughed, shaking her head lightly. “I suspect Mr. Schofield is going to be good for business.” She offered after a moment and Ianto dropped his arm, moving to lean on the desk beside her.  


  
“Oh? How so?” He asked curiously.  


  
“Well, he wears better suits than you do for a start,” Ianto shot her an affronted look which she politely ignored. “And he lives on West Ardmore Avenue.”  


  
“West Ardmore?” Ianto made a face. “Addresses don’t mean much, Tosh. We’ve got millionaire gangsters living in the ghetto round the block.”  


  
“ _And_ , he’s never been inked before in his life.” She smiled slowly at him.  


  
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Ianto agreed. First timers were usually susceptible to forking out considerable amounts for the pieces they wanted done. Not because they were charged double the price or anything quite so immoral, but because they tended to have no concept of just how much getting inked _did_ cost. And by the time they’d made up their mind to get inked and gone through the process of finding a tattooist to do said inking (and likely the designing too), they were usually too self-conscious to then protest the quoted price. He should know, it’d happened the very first time he’d gone to get a tattoo.  


  
Admittedly, Ianto’s first tattoo had been a rather simple piece of text, a name in fact which he’d had scrolled across his left wrist in an exaggerated style of calligraphy that had ended up looking rather old English in appearance. But he’d wanted it. He’d designed it. He’d planned out the placement for it. And by Jove he was going to get it. So when he’d been told just how much it would cost to get it done he’d silently balked to himself, forced a smile onto his face and agreed almost immediately, knowing that if he turned away then, he’d never have had the balls to go back.  


  
Ianto smiled softly at the memory as he gently tugged the sleeve of his suit jacket down over his wrist to reveal the beautifully etched tattoo that, when properly looked at, revealed itself to be a name and short, related verse:  


  
  
_Lisa_   
_If you go there, you go forever_   
_If I go there, I lose my way_   
_If we stay here, we’re not together_   
_Anywhere Is_   
  


  


  
The name was that of his, then, recently deceased girlfriend, Lisa Hallett. She’d been English, tall, dark-skinned, gorgeous and everything Ianto had ever wanted in a women. They were at that stage of their relationship where Ianto was seriously considering proposing when Lisa started getting sick. For the first couple of weeks Lisa had brushed off the pain in her side as nothing. Ianto finally convinced Lisa to have herself seen by a doctor only to have things progressively worsen from there. She had cancer. Lymphoma to be exact, and it was in the advanced stages. There was no cure.  


  
The months that followed were the hardest Ianto had ever faced in his life. The feeling of utter helplessness- _uselessness_ \- in the face of her illness nearly broke him, but somehow he found the strength to keep going, to be strong for her, for his beloved Lisa. Ianto, fresh out of University at the time with a degree in Law took sabbatical leave from the firm in downtown Chicago he’d been temping at in order to spend as much time as was physically possible with Lisa. It was during the months that followed, with Ianto sketching Lisa at every possible turn in order to forever preserve the memory of her, that Lisa had urged him to pursue a new career.  


  
“Life’s too short, Ianto,” she’d said, clinging to his hand as he lay beside her, his free hand stroking gently through her hair. She knew he wasn’t happy at the prospect of doing Law for the rest of his life, knew he’d taken it up only at his father’s insistence, knew that without her around it would drive Ianto to misery and she wanted anything but that for him.  


  
“Pursue your art,” Lisa had breathed, smiling softly even as her eyes shone bright with pain. “I want you happy, Ianto. I want you to _live_ when I’m gone.”  


  
He’d kissed her then, his hands tracing invisible patterns across her body as they made love for the last time. A few weeks later Lisa passed away. It took almost a year for Ianto to drag himself out of his spiralling depression. He spent just under a month in Wales for her funeral before returning to Chicago, alone. He lived his life on automatic after that. It wasn’t until he heard one of Lisa’s favourite songs on the radio one morning as he readied himself for another day at the firm that he effectively found himself ‘waking up’ and realising that his life since her loss had compromised of nothing more than sleeping, eating and working. He’d skipped work that day, choosing instead to drag out his sketches of Lisa and start, rather spur-of-the-moment, sketching out the design for a tattoo in remembrance to her. He was starting to heal. He quit his job soon after and began to search for an apprenticeship as a tattooist.  


  
Jack Harkness had been the one to ink it. Ianto found the knowledge that Jack had been the one to etch the name of his deceased lover into his flesh somewhat ironic, as not six weeks later he’d ended up being employed by the enigmatic Captain, whom, upon receiving Ianto’s _Curriculum Vitae_ immediately recalled him as being the “ _eye candy! The one with the dead girlfriend, right?_ ” Toshiko had been there at the time and upon hearing the reference took a moment to jab Jack sharply in the ribs.  


  
The Captain had winced, looking suddenly sheepish and apologising for his insensitivity. For some reason, Jack’s words hadn’t offended him. He suspected Jack knew this as not five minutes later he was back to flirting his way through Ianto’s CV and making appropriate hums and haws whenever something particularly interesting caught his eye. Ianto had even been reduced to blushing at one point, a sight Jack seemed to find particularly endearing as he reached out to stroke a finger across one heated cheek.  


  
“Careful!” Ianto had blurted out in his embarrassment, “That’s harassment, sir.”  


  
Jack had been unexplainably delighted at his choice of words and hired him as an apprentice before Ianto was even aware that Jack’s inappropriate perusal of his CV had been part of some informal interview process.  


  
And now, here he was, years down the line with Lisa a fond but distant memory and Jack a relatively old but no less interesting one. He’d lasted less than six months under the alluring charms of the Captain (a nickname he’d acquired thanks to his unexplained fetish with period military clothing) before he’d allowed Jack to take him to his bed. Tosh was darling enough to inform him that he’d held out longer than all of Jack’s previous conquests. A comment, to which, he wasn’t entirely sure how to take especially when Jack proceeded to treat him exactly as he had before their first tryst- that is to say, he flirted outrageously and made inappropriate passes at Ianto whenever they were in the same vicinity. A brief spell of emotional angst and confusion aside, Ianto had resigned himself to being yet another notch in the older man’s bedpost and resolved to keep things between them as strictly professional as possible from that point onwards. Jack… well Jack had had plans of his own.  


  
Less than two weeks later, Ianto had ended up back in Jack’s bed. The night one he’d never forget as Jack took his pleasure in branding Ianto as his own with Ianto’s first ever piercing- a silver bar pierced through the left nipple. It had been an interesting experience for them both, as far from finding the perforation painful, Ianto had discovered that his already sensitive nipples became even more receptive to sensation, the ensuing discovery leading Jack to grin ever so wickedly at him before torturing him to a whimpering mess with naught but his mouth and that devilish tongue hidden within. It had been a good night. And one of many they’d shared from that point onwards.  


  
Though Jack was by no means a monogamous sort of man, Ianto had grown to accept that no matter how many others (male _and_ female, and likely a few in between if the tall tales he told held any truth to them!) Jack chose to share his body with, he always came back to Ianto. And Ianto was satisfied with that. Knowing that he held a piece of Jack’s heart, that he was more than just a passing fancy or another faceless fling, well… he supposed that was enough for him.  


  
Slowly, Ianto became aware of slim fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of his neck and he straightened, realising he’d drifted off into his own little world for a moment there. He turned his head slightly to see that it was Gwen who was petting him. He smiled shakily; he hadn’t even heard her come into the front room.  


  
“Alright there, Sunshine?” She asked with a smile which Ianto returned along with a nod of his head. He always returned a little melancholy from his trips back home.  


  
“Fine, Gwen. Thanks.” Gwen moved her hand from his neck to his crown, mercilessly ruffling his hair and laughing as Ianto groaned and batted her hands away.  


  
“Away with you, wench!” Ianto exclaimed, trying in vain to rake his hair back into some semblance of order. Gwen just giggled, dancing away as Ianto made to reach out for her. Not that he’d have been able to do much damage to _her_ hair of course, being as she sported an array of multicoloured dreadlocks; most of it her own, but the more brilliantly coloured dreads he assumed were the synthetic locks she braided into her hair.  


  
Ianto had never been all that fond of the look himself, but with Gwen? Well there was just something about this vibrant young woman that pulled it off. With her infectious joy for life and humanity and all things in between, so long as Gwen was in the room beside you, you’d soon forget about the troubles your own life was throwing at you and focus on the here and the now and the sheer _delight_ of simply living in the moment. And you couldn’t help but love her for that.  


  
Gwen childishly stuck her tongue out at him before turning and flouncing in the direction of the back rooms, muttering something about finding her converse trainers and wondering if there was anyway she’d be able to turn a spare pair of them into dolly type shoes to better show off the new tat.  


  
Ianto and Toshiko shared a brief look and an amused eye roll before Ianto, feeling much more lightened, brought up their initial conversation about the potentially good for business Mr Schofield.  


  
“Did he say what sort of inking he wants done?” Ianto asked and Toshiko shook her head.  


  
“Not really, no. He did say it would be a large upper body piece, but he was quite mum about the specifics.” She tapped her mouth thoughtfully with her index finger. “I suspect he’ll discuss everything with you tonight,” she mused, “and if Jack’s here he can help you work out the pricing for it.”  


  
“Yeah,” Ianto agreed, frowning in thought. “Quite the mysterious sort, isn’t he?”  


  
“Right up your alley then.” Toshiko quipped with a glint in her eye.  


 ****

  
\- - -  


  
The rest of Ianto’s day was taken up with a few small pieces, requested by customers walking in off the street and looking to be inked sooner rather than later. As Ianto was the only one with an open book in regards to appointments, he was the lucky one who got to take them all.  


  
The pieces were depressingly simple and predictable (emo stars on the wrist, butterfly’s on the foot, and even one woman who thought it’d be hilarious to get the ‘stickman moving the lawn’ motif that was going around). All in all, by the time the day drew to a close Ianto was feeling particularly uninspired and tired.  


  
The shop gradually emptied as everyone cleaned up their work areas and left for the night. Gwen was going home to her boyfriend Rhys who was apparently cooking lasagne for them. Owen was popping down to a bar with his on-again, off-again, girlfriend Diane. And Toshiko was heading for a practice session with her band, “Greeks Bearing Gifts”, where she played cello with fellow band mates Mary, Tommy and Adam.  


  
Eventually, Ianto and Jack were left alone to await the arrival of the mysterious and potentially good-for-business Michael Schofield.  


  
They settled themselves through the back, secure in the knowledge that the front shop was locked up for the night and that the soon to be arriving Michael Schofield knew to ring the bell beside the front door once he got there to alert them of his arrival. The staffroom, or “boardroom” as Jack liked to call it, consisted of a small kitchenette unit along the back wall, and a set of two couches- unlike the ones used in the waiting room of the front shop, these opposite facing settees showed their age through various rips and tears and stains so ingrained into their very fabrics that nothing Ianto had tried had yet been able to remove them.  


  
It was on one of these sofa’s that Jack and Ianto currently sat, facing each other from opposite ends as they sipped from the coffee Ianto had miraculously managed to coax from the coffee machine Jack had honestly thought he’d broken beyond repair whilst playing an impromptu game of piggy-in-the-middle with Owen, Gwen and an alien Tamagotchi belonging to the latter. Though of course, he didn’t mention _that_ to Ianto, choosing to be as vague as he possibly could be in his explanations in an endeavour to stop the other man from finding out the specifics. He knew instant coffee would be the least of his worries if Ianto found out his precious coffee machine had been damaged after Jack was bodily slammed into it by an overly enthusiastic Gwen as she rugby-tackled him into it, her grasping hands snatching the Tamagotchi from his slack fingers with a triumphant ‘ _ha-ha!_ ’ as he was momentarily winded.  


  
Ianto had his head rested against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed as he rested them for a few minutes. His legs were drawn up beside him, his coffee mug clasped gently in his cupped hands. Jack sipped silently from his own cup, watching Ianto with an inscrutable expression on his face.  


  
“You’re staring.” Ianto muttered with eyes still closed.  


  
“Am not.” Jack immediately retorted. Ianto’s mouth twitched into a sort of half-smile.  


  
“Liar.” He breathed, blinking his eyes open and raising his coffee to his lips. Jack merely smiled at him.  


  
“You look tired.” He said, nodding in Ianto’s direction. Ianto smiled again.  


  
“I am.” He agreed, watching Jack as he shifted on the couch, shuffling closer towards Ianto who felt his heart pick up the pace. With anyone else the movement would have come across as a purely innocent repositioning of oneself, but with Jack, Ianto knew everything the older man did was as far from innocent as he could possibly get. Ianto raised his eyebrows, watching silently as Jack set his coffee on the table beside them before reaching out to take Ianto’s too and setting it next to his own cup.  


  
“Need I remind you we’re still on work time, sir?” Ianto asked, amusement lacing his words.  


  
“ _Over_ time,” Jack corrected, “And technically, so long as your boss doesn’t find out…” he drifted off, waggling his eyebrows.  


  
“Oh, I’m not sure about that, Jack.” Ianto obligingly protested. “My boss can be quite the battleaxe. I’m not sure he’d approve of any extracurricular activities going on in his parlour.”  


  
“I suspect you’d be right,” Jack purred, leaning over, “but I have it on good authority that your boss very much _encourages_ these sorts of extra-,” before he could say more however, an audible _brrrring!_ sounded and Ianto moved suddenly forward to press a quick kiss to Jack’s mouth before he pushed up and off the couch with nothing more than an airily called ‘ _doorbell!_ ’ thrown over his shoulder as he made his way towards the shop front and the gentleman they were expecting.  


  
Jack cursed and slumped face forward into the cushions, grumbling wordlessly to himself as he listened to the sounds of Ianto moving about the front shop- the door opening then closing, the sound of voices and footsteps as Ianto led someone (presumably Michael Schofield) through into the back rooms and towards his own workspace. With a groan, Jack pushed upwards and brushed himself down into some semblance of order. He straightened his shirt, untangled his braces, slapped his patented Harkness grin onto his face and went in search of Ianto and the mysterious Mr. Schofield.  



	4. Three.

  
“Now what’s a guy like you looking to be inked for?” Were the first words out of Jack’s mouth as he stepped into Ianto’s workspace, his eyes automatically running the length of the impeccably dressed man standing beside Ianto.  


  
Michael Schofield, tall and tanned with a crop of dark hair visible despite the crew cut he sported. Not a bad looking bloke, Jack noted, as his eyes assessed Michael from the juts of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips to the cut of his navy-grey suit and the polish of shoes afforded only by gentlemen with a disposable income at hand.  


  
Behind Michael, Ianto was shooting Jack a look that clearly told the older man to behave. A look Jack willingly chose to ignore as he smiled winningly at Michael who merely inclined his head in acknowledgement. The slightest hint of a smile touching his mouth as he carefully regarded Jack. He appeared remarkably calm and collected, completely unfazed by Jack’s open leering as he stepped forward, hand extended, to offer his greeting and name.  


  
“As for wanting to be inked-,” and here he turned to smile at Ianto whilst purposefully extracting his hand from Jack’s lingering grip, “-I’ve been told that Mr. Jones is one of the best tattooists Chicago has to offer.”  


  
“Much to the chagrin of all other tattoo artists in the area, I can assure you.” Jack said, stepping further into the room and speaking before Ianto could brush the comment away.  


  
“I understand you’re fairly new into the business, Mr. Jones?” Michael asked. “Only a matter of years, am I correct?”  


  
“Please, call me Ianto. Calling me Mr. Jones makes me feel as old as Jack,” Ianto quipped, smirking in Jack’s direction and watching as Michael’s lips twitched. “And yes, you’re correct; I’m not an expert by any means.”  


  
“But you are a perfectionist?” Michael asked and Jack snorted back a laugh at the accuracy of Michael’s words; the both of them watched as Ianto shrugged somewhat self depreciatively in reply. It was true; he was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to his work. But if he felt unsatisfied with a piece, it was only right that he endeavoured to fix whichever issue he had with it. It was a sort of professionalism, a pride in his work. If he wasn’t pleased with the results of a tattoo or design, why should he assume his client would be any different in their opinion of it?  


  
He’d always been a man of details. He could spend hours, perhaps to a fault, perfecting the most miniscule of details- particulars perhaps that no one other than he himself would ever have noticed. But, Ianto supposed, that was decidedly the point. That he noticed and corrected mistakes before they had the chance to become just that- mistakes; inked statements of shoddy artistry, etched permanently into the skin and on glaringly permanent display. His name forever attached to it.  


  
“I’ve been known to… _linger_ on a piece or two.” Ianto slowly admitted. Jack grinned widely back at him from over Michael’s shoulder and Ianto bit back the scowl he wanted to direct towards the other man.  


  
“Is that going to be an issue?” Ianto asked, cocking his head to the side and frowning only the slightest of frowns.  


  
“On the contrary!” Michael said, his bemused ‘I know something you don’t’ smile turning to a more genuine smile, and one that lit his whole face up as he seemed to relax into the moment. “Perfection is exactly what I’m in need of.” He reassured before reaching for the poster tube he’d brought along with him and extracting from it a couple dozen pieces of paper- _tracing_ paper, Ianto noted with a vague interest that soon morphed to an overwhelming sense of fascination as he noticed just what was on said pieces of paper: lines. Lots of lines, all painstaking sketching out an overall design, each piece meticulously planned out down to the last seemingly inconsequential detail.  


  
Ianto was pretty sure he’d gasped aloud at the sight of such exquisite artistic capability and quality as he gratefully accepted the pieces from Michael and laid them out across the small bench lining the wall directly to the left of the doorway. Michael stepped up behind him as Ianto’s hands flew over the pages, taking in every motif and pattern till he was sure he could envision the designs perpetually imprinted into living flesh.  


  
“Where on earth did you get these?” Ianto breathed out, his words soft and almost reverent in the face of such skill.  


  
“They are of my own design.” Michael said equally as softly. Ianto turned his head at the words, finding Michael to be only inches away from him.  


  
“This is your own work?” Ianto asked, his awe apparent. Michael nodded.  


  
“They’ve taken me a long time to perfect.” Michael began, “But like you, Mr Jones- Ianto- I am a man of details. And though my skill lies only in putting this to paper, _yours_ lies in the ability to put this to skin. Perfectly. Every inch of every line mapped to perfection. I want this entire piece- all twenty four specifically designed parts- to span the entire upper half of my body. torso and arms.”  


  
His words hung thick and heavy in the air about them. Ianto felt a giddy sense of excitement bubbling up within him at the very idea and he turned back to the pieces, his fingers flying over them once again with a new sense of purpose as he imagined them now applied to the top half of a body. He noticed the numbers scrawled in the top right hand corner of each page and assumed that worked out the order in which they were to appear on the body.  


  
Movement to his right and the heat at his back disappeared as Jack stepped closer to the pair of them. He’d been almost suspiciously silent as he’d watched their proceedings.  


  
Ianto smiled brightly at Jack before turning to Michael. “I can do this.” He assured Michael. Knowing, honestly and without boast, that he had the skill to copy this exactly as it had been planned.  


  
Michael nodded his head, returning Ianto’s obvious excitement with another smile of his own. “My own research into your previous pieces has assured me that you’re the man I need for this.” He met Ianto’s gaze frankly, “I know you won’t let me down.”  


  
Ianto held Michael’s gaze, the moment drawing out for a heartbeat longer than was strictly necessary as they recognised in each other the same passion shared between them.  


  
“Well, now that that’s decided,” Jack started, stepping another pace forward and interrupting the moment. He shot Ianto an inscrutable look. “The only details that remain to be sorted are of the pricing and scheduling variety.”  


  
“The cost will be no problem,” Michael answered softly, “but if possible I’d like to get this piece done as soon as possible.”  


  
“Mr Schofield-,” Ianto began with a sudden uncertainty, “this sort of thing cannot happen over a period of days or even weeks. We’re talking months here. Many months. Tattooing is a very specific art. Usually the initial structure of the piece would have to be inked into the skin and then left to heal before we’d even begin to think about the particulars of shading and whatnot. Now, I could probably, due to the complexity of this piece, complete both aspects at the same time, but we’re still talking months of works to apply and ink piece by piece.”  


  
Michael folded his hands behind his back, his head bowed slightly as he contemplated Ianto’s words.  


  
“If you’re willing, I can come in for evening sessions as frequently as you’ll allow. There are twenty four pieces to work from. If you can't work on one area for the reasons you mention, you could surely begin on another section, or on another side of my body?”  


  
Ianto shot a look at Jack who was frowning openly at Michael’s words. Ianto turned back to the other man, seeing the openness in his face as he silently beseeched Ianto to agree.  


  
“Please, I need this done as soon as possible.”  


  
Ianto swallowed heavily. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Michael just why it was so important to get this tattoo inked into his skin so quickly but he refrained, knowing the question was little better than a prying into the man’s personal life. He shook his head slightly, just enough to signal Jack into keeping his trap shut also. He would have smiled at the offended huff Jack gave in response if not for the seriousness of the moment.  


  
“Come back tomorrow then, Mr Schofield.” Ianto said. “I’ll draw up a schedule over the course of the day and we’ll take things from there. I can also give you an idea of what the charge per session is likely to be.”  


  
“Thank you.” Michael breathed out, his relief evident in the sudden sagging of his shoulders.  


  
Ianto nodded. “I assume evenings are best for you?” he asked.  


  
Michael agreed, “Yes, please- if that’s okay with you? I will be able to come in a few hours earlier on most nights though. I have weekends free too, if that helps.”  


  
“It helps.” Ianto agreed. “If you call in tomorrow evening at some point we’ll take things from there.”  


  
Michael thanked him most graciously as he was led back through the darkness of the front shop and towards the door. He assured Ianto that he would try and get away from work a bit earlier tomorrow night in order not to keep Ianto working any later than he had to. Ianto smiled kindly, taking Michael’s hand in a shake as they parted ways, with Michael heading out into the night and towards the car he’d parked by the curb just outside the shop.  


  
“Oh, and please,” he said suddenly turning to look at Ianto, “it’s Michael.”  


  
And with that he was slipping into his car and driving out into the silence of the night. Ianto stood a moment in the doorway mulling over meeting the enigmatic Mr Schofield.  


  
“That was certainly as interesting one.” Jack’s voice called to him. Ianto jerked his head in a vague sort of agreement as he squinted out into the night. He heard the light thump of Jack’s boots as the Captain crossed the room towards him, his arms slipping easily about his waist as he hugged himself against Ianto’s back and rested his chin atop his shoulder.  


  
Ianto turned his head with a smile, pressing a light kiss to Jack’s lips before patting at his hands to release their hold of him. Jack acquiesced to his wordless request and stepped away. Ianto moved to close the door, bolting and locking it from the inside before walking with Jack through into the back rooms to tidy up the few pieces they needed to take care of before they themselves could leave for the night.  


  
“Hey,” Jack tried after a time, “I was thinking, what say you and me grab a bite to eat once we're done here?”  


  
Ianto looked up from where he was filing away Michael’s sketches into a locked cabinet he kept beneath his workbench. He raised an eyebrow at Jack who blinked innocently down at him.  


  
“What?” Jack asked when Ianto merely continued looked at him, deigning to answer.  


  
Ianto finished with the cabinet and stood with a shake of his head. “I think not, sir.” He declined. Jack frowned- on the verge of pouting- at him.  


  
“Why not?”  


  
“Well for one thing, I’m still upset you broke my coffee machine-,” Jack rolled his eyes even as Ianto began to scowl at him. “-and for another, I know what dinner with you entails, Jack Harkness, and I’m far too tired to play your games tonight.”  


  
Jack shot him the most offended look he could muster. “And if I promised to be on my best behaviour? Scouts honour and all?”  


  
“Jack, you were never in the Scouts.” Ianto began frankly. “And even if you were-,” he hurried on when Jack opened his mouth to defend himself, “-you were probably kicked out for indecent exposure around a campfire or something equally as outrageous.” Jack grinned broadly and Ianto pinched at the bridge of his nose.  


  
“No. I do _not_ want to know.” He moved towards the door, pausing only to snatch up the leather-bound folder cum satchel he’d brought in with him that morning.  


  
“Oh fine,” Jack relented, “but when you get home and realise what a great offer you just passed up-,” Ianto’s snort of amusement effectively interrupted Jack’s spiel and caused the Captain to shoot him his most unimpressed look.  


  
“I’m sure I’ll miss you terribly when I’m stretched out in my bed, balls naked and wrapped in crisp, clean sheets.”  


  
Jack pursed his lips as they headed towards the back door, turning off lights and power sockets as they went.  


  
“I don’t hear any mention of food in that plan.” He tried and Ianto laughed as they stepped out into the warmth of the night, waiting till Jack finished locking up the backdoor before he stepped up to him, wrapping his arms about the Captain’s neck as he leant in to whisper salaciously into his ear.  


  
“You and I both know that the only thing I’d be eating if you came over would be your arse.” He licked his tongue over the shell of Jack’s ear before nipping at the lobe and eliciting a half-moan from the older man. Then he pulled away. “But I think something with more sustenance is in order.”  


  
“Oh come on!” Jack protested as Ianto turned towards his car.  


  
“Goodnight, Jack!” he called over his shoulder, laughing as he slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled away; Jack’s scowling face watching him as it was reflected to him in his rear view mirror.  


  
\- - -  


  
As it turned out, Jack was right. By the time he got home, tired and hungry and wanting nothing more than a long hot shower, a quick bite of food and a good night’s sleep (and not specifically in that order), it was to find that he’d yet to restock his fridge after his recent trip back home to Cardiff.  


  
Before Ianto could even summon up the energy to decide that maybe he should have taken Jack up on his offer after all (there really would have been _some_ attempt at real food) there came a chap at his door. With a light frown, and knowing Jack wouldn’t have turned up after being turned down, Ianto ensured that the safty-chain was securely fastened before opening the door.  


  
“Takeaway for Mr. Jones,” a young boy recited in stilted English upon seeing him. Ianto opened his mouth to tell the boy that he hadn’t ordered anything before closing it again as the smell of the chicken chow mien reached his nose; his mouth watering at the very thought of eating it.  


  
“Courtesy of a Captain Harkness!” The boy smiled widely at him and Ianto shook his head fondly. Then again, maybe it _had_ been a good idea to turn Jack down, he thought to himself with a smile as he opened the door fully and gratefully accepted the bag of food, tipping the delivery boy in thanks. If this was the kind of service it guaranteed him, he’d seriously have to consider turning Jack down more often.  


  
His phone beeped at the exact moment he entered the small kitchenette and he fished it out of his pocket without breaking stride; thumb expertly unlocking and opening the message. It was from Jack.  


  
_“this is a one off, mr jones._   
_make the most of it._   
_bring coffee tomorrow?_   
_jack”_   
  
__

  
Ianto laughed, closing the message without reply and dropping his phone to the counter as he fished through his cupboards for a plate and cutlery. He was still grinning as he piled a heaped portion of the chow mien onto his plate, poured himself a generous glass of wine and settled himself down in front of the telly; the pictures flickering silently before him as he muted the sound, content simply to sit and eat in silence, the soundless images on screen supposedly serving to keep his mind suitably distracted from thinking about work, even when all he really wanted to think about was work.  


  
In specific, he wanted to think about Michael Schofield and his sketches. In the skill and dedication to detail he’d shown in each of the pieces, the sheer _talent_ he portrayed. A talent etched to paper that he now wished to entrust to Ianto, to have Ianto himself bring to life upon his flesh- forever imprinted…  


  
Ianto felt a shiver of delight shoot up his spine, his toes curling at the mere thought of being the one chosen to tattoo the piece onto the other man. He grinned anew around his last mouthful of chicken, suddenly wide awake and not at all interested in sleeping balls naked in crisp, clean sheets as he’d teased Jack with earlier.  


  
Taking a quick sip of his wine, Ianto pulled his sketchbook towards him and began to plan out the sessions he could sensibly squeeze Michael Schofield in for per week, taking into account the apparent urgency the other man had presented and his own penchant for perfection. Not to mention the rest of the casework he already had filling up his bookings. It was going to be tricky. Not to mention terribly exhausting if he didn’t manage his time correctly. There could be no margin for error, not on any piece of course, but most certainly not on this one.  


  
His writing hand flew across the timetable he’d constructed, his tongue peeking out between his teeth as he puzzled over the details. He’d need to see the pieces again of course, just to be certain of time management and the trickiness each presented before talking to Michael about a finalised schedule. But it would work, because if there was one thing Ianto Jones never backed down from, it was a challenge, and this, to him, sounded like a damn good one to boot!  



	5. Four.

  
It was ridiculous, truth be told, and yet Ianto couldn’t help the goofy smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he stepped into the shop the very next morning to find a brand-spanking-new coffee machine perched upon the reception desk with an overly-large pink bow wrapped about it. He laughed, stepping up to the counter and depositing the tray of Starbucks coffees he’d picked up at Jack’s request, as well as his shop keys and work folder. He fingered the bow around the machine and shook his head with a faint snort of laughter.  


Jack was upon him seconds later; his arms wrapping about Ianto’s trim waist whilst he nuzzled his nose up against his ear.

“Morning, Sexy,” Jack greeted, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Ianto’s neck.

“Mmmm,” Ianto hummed his approval, twisting in Jack’s hold till he was able to face the other man. “First dinner and now this,” he purred, fingers running teasingly along the straps of Jack’s braces, “anyone would think you were after something, Captain Harkness.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Jack replied with faux innocence even as he tightened his arms, drawing Ianto flush against him and leaning in for a kiss Ianto willingly reciprocated, his arms winding themselves around Jack’s neck as he parted his lips in invitation.

Jack moaned softly, deepening the kiss whilst inwardly congratulating himself on the apparent ease with which he’d managed his conquest of Ianto Jones. Right up until the moment Ianto pulled away from him, that is, smiling somewhat impishly as he pressed his fingers to his mouth and murmured something about coming in early to talk about Michael Schofield’s tattoo.

Jack wasn’t the slightest bit interested in tattoos at the moment (unless it happened to be one of Ianto’s less visible ones). He reached out and snagged Ianto around the waist, leaning in for another kiss which Ianto expertly avoided by presenting Jack with his cheek instead. Jack groaned, frustrated, as he pressed his forehead to Ianto’s instead.

“I brought coffee?” Ianto offered, trying to pacify him. Jack shot him an unimpressed look before moving more quickly than Ianto was expecting and pushing Ianto up against the reception desk, their bodies pressed so tightly together that Ianto could feel the swell of Jack’s arousal as he canted their hips together. Ianto flushed, feeling a stirring in his loins as Jack’s lips found his own with the same swift ease with which he’d manipulated their positions.

Ianto sucked in a gasp of air the moment Jack pulled his mouth away, his lips twisting up into a leering grin as he eyed the stain of desire colouring Ianto’s cheeks.

“What were you saying?” Jack purred, rocking his hips against Ianto’s once more.

Ianto’s attempt at a glare was gone just as quickly as it formed. “Well,” he breathed, arching a little in Jack’s arms, “I suppose we have some time.”

Taking that as his cue, Jack grinned and leant in to kiss Ianto once again, only to have Ianto duck his head away, avoiding the contact.

“What now?” Jack huffed, frowning. Ianto grinned at his put-out look.

“If you want anything from me, Captain, I suggest we move this to your office,” he nodded over Jack’s shoulder towards the front of the shop, and the fact that the only thing separating the view of them from anyone strolling past was three window panes of glass.

Jack turned back with a leer. “I don’t mind putting on a show,” he said, temptingly.

Ianto laughed, smacking lightly at Jack’s arm, “You might not, but I do.” He wriggled himself free and took one of Jack’s hands, “Come on, Casanova, your office will just have to do.”

\- - -

Much to Jack’s chagrin, the furthest Ianto was willing to let them go in the workplace involved nothing more explicit than some heavy atop-the-clothing petting and the contribution of a stopwatch, after which Ianto expertly extracted himself from Jack’s wandering hands and pulled out the timetable he’d spent most of the previous evening working on for his latest client. Jack’s disbelief over the entire situation increasing tenfold as Ianto, quite the thing, manoeuvred himself so that there was now a desk between them and settled himself in Jack’s chair as if he owned the place.

“Ianto,” Jack growled, fingers clenching at his sides as he resisted the urge to leap the desk and pounce upon Ianto’s unsuspecting form. Ianto looked up at him through his eyelashes, blinking slowly and smiling sweetly. Jack ground his teeth, shifting as he felt his untouched erection rub at the fabric of his pants in protest.

Ianto raised his hand, pointing his finger up into the air and cocking his head in a gesture inviting Jack to listen. Put out, Jack glared at Ianto, but was powerless to deny the sound of activity and voices as their colleagues arrived for work.

“You-,” Jack began, huffing out a long puff of frustration. “You so owe me.”

Ianto just grinned a moment before indicating the seat opposite him.

“Now, as I was saying about Mr. Schofield’s schedule…” Ianto began, ignoring Jack’s groan as he shuffled forward and sat, head thumping against the desk in front of him as he considered this Mr. Schofield and how he was almost certainly going to be the death of him.

\- - -

“Are you a religious sort of man, Mr Schofield?” Ianto asked with a half-smile as Michael leant over the counter towards him. He was in the area, he’d said, and thought he’d stop by and see if any arrangements had been made in regards to appointments and pricings. Ianto was once again touched with the notion that Michael most certainly did not want to waste any time in regards to getting his tattoo permanently inked.

Thankfully, earlier that morning, Ianto had managed to steal Jack away for a couple of hours so that they could go over the details for Mr. Schofield’s tattoo, amongst other things. They’d been able to agree on nightly sessions, up to four a week and each lasting up to a couple of hours at a time. With the whole piece worked out over, roughly, two hundred hours, it would take more than a couple of months to complete the full design, but if Michael was as desperate as he’d appeared to be in their initial consultation, then Ianto was sure he’d agree to it.

As for the pricing, Jack had quoted between fifteen and twenty grand, depending of course on how many hours the piece actually took and how much ink had to be used to cover the design. Ianto was sure that Michael would have no qualms over the pricing, whatever the figure totalled to; he’d said as much last night.

Michael’s smile was slow, amused almost even as a quick frown flittered across his face. “I’ve never really thought about it,” he answered and Ianto raised an eyebrow at his words, not entirely sure whether the other man was being serious or not.

“You’ve an awful lot of religious imagery for a man who’s never considered it,” Ianto said, his voice light enough not to press the issue if Michael didn’t want to discuss it.

“I went more for a design that was aesthetically pleasing to me than any real attempt at religious conviction,” he said after a minute of deliberation, “there just seemed to be something inherently poetic about angels and demons fighting.”

Ianto smiled his agreement after a moments thought before handing over the timetable he’d worked out along with the timescale and price.

“That long, huh?” Michael asked, frowning as his eyes scanned the sheet.

“You cannot rush perfection, Mr. Schofield,” Ianto reminded him. “You have a tremendous amount of detail in your designs and in order to make sure everything is as exact as your drawings then I’m going to need the time to get it right. I am right in my assumption that you want everything done as they’ve been sketched?”

“Yes,” Michael answered, “I want it as exactly as I’ve drawn it.”

“Then we both need the time to make sure I can do my job. Not only that, but your body will need time to heal.”

“The healing can come after,” Michael said, but made no further mention of the timescale.

“If I may,” Ianto began, with a slight frown, “why the rush?”

Michael looked at him cautiously but said nothing.

“For most people a design of this scale would take years to complete. You seem pretty desperate to get it done as soon as possible.” Ianto continued.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Michael answered slowly, watching as Ianto raised an eyebrow in question though he refrained from enquiring outright.

“You know,” Ianto began, redirecting the conversation, “if you went to anyone else, they could probably cut down the length of time by a third, possibly even a half of what I’m quoting you here.”

Michael smiled then, the gesture reaching his eyes as he looked into Ianto’s. “I doubt I could get anyone else as good as you are, though.” He replied with such honestly that Ianto found himself shifting under the praise.

“I’ve done a lot of research into this, Ianto,” Michael continued, his tone serious, “and a lot of research into you and your work. This isn’t a whim by any means; it’s been in the works for a long time coming.”

Ianto took a moment to consider his words before nodding. “Then we’re in agreement?” He asked, gesturing to the timetable and price. Michael looked down at the slip of paper in his hand once more before looking up and nodding his head.

“We are in agreement,” he said, holding out his hand. Ianto took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

“So,” Ianto asked with a smile, business over, “when would you like to get started?”

“As soon as possible,” Michael laughed, slipping the timetable into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Ianto shook his head with a smile before reaching for the appointment book sitting open on the reception desk and silmultaneously checking his watch; 4 o'clock, and neither he nor Gwen had any outstanding clients pencilled in.

“Well, Mr Schofield, it just so happens I’m free for the rest of the afternoon,” Ianto offered. Michael looked at him for a moment before pulling out his phone.

“Give me a moment,” he said, stepping away from the counter to make a quick phone call, presumably to his work.

“Oh, isn’t he a pretty one?” Gwen gushed, slipping up beside Ianto and staring over towards Michael as he spoke swiftly into his mobile. Ianto rolled his eyes at her.

“Do try to contain yourself, Mrs Williams,” Ianto teased, watching as Gwen’s entire face scrunched up in disapproval as he reminded her that she was a married woman.

“Oh god, don’t call me that! You make me sound like Rhys’ mother!” She exclaimed, poking him in the side, “It’s still Cooper to you lot, thank you very much!”

Ianto grinned at her as he dodged another prod. “Should have thought about that before you said ‘I do’, don’t you think?”

“Ianto Jones, don’t make me-!” Gwen threatened with a grin that soon became a muffled squeal as Ianto reached out and hooked his arm around the back of her neck before ruffling at her dreads.

A throat cleared just as Gwen began hissing obscenities and squirming to get out of Ianto’s arms. They both paused, looking up to see Michael watching their antics with a half-smile on his lips.

Ianto grinned somewhat sheepishly and released Gwen who was doing her best to pretend she’d not just been held in a headlock by her co-worker.

“We are also the epitome of professional here at Torchwood, of course,” Ianto said in reply to Michael’s amused expression.

“Of course,” Michael repeated, his eyes flickering momentarily to Gwen who nudged Ianto in the rubs.

“Mr. Schofield, this is Mrs Gwen Williams née Cooper,” He gestured to Gwen, trying not to laugh outright as she shot him her most unimpressed look, “Gwen, this is Mr. Michael Schofield.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Gwen said, smiling at Michael before turning to Ianto, “you can go right off some people you know,” she grumbled for his ears only and Ianto grinned, reaching out to ruffle at her dreads again.

“Good luck with this one,” Gwen began, huffing as she dodged Ianto’s hand, “I don’t envy your having to spend so much time with him!”

Ianto laughed and shooed her away with a wave of his hand, “Be gone, woman!” he teased and Gwen pulled her tongue at him, smiled sweetly towards Michael, and disappeared into the back once more, where Ianto fancied he could hear her conferring with Toshiko and Owen already.

He turned back to Michael with a smile.

“Interesting lot you’ve got here,” Michael noted, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Ianto joked before sobering a little and bringing the subject back around to the tattoo.

“If you’re so inclined, I’ve managed to free myself up for the rest of the afternoon,” Michael said, his eagerness obvious and Ianto smiled again.

“It just so happens that I am very much inclined,” he agreed. “Shall we?” he asked stepping to the side and gesturing for Michael to follow him through into the back rooms.

They stepped into his cubicle and Ianto passed over the consent and medical forms for Michael to fill out whilst he fetched the carbon copies he’d made from Michael’s sketches, laying them out on the workbench for Michael to approve once he was done.

“So, where would you like me to start, Mr. Schofield?” Ianto asked as Michael passed over his finished forms and moved closer to the individual pieces of carbon paper, his eyes moving critically over the images whilst Ianto scanned the information Michael had just provided him.

“Please, first names are fine,” Michael offered, somewhat distractedly as he pursued the pieces.

“Okay, where would you like me to start, Michael?” Ianto repeated, smiling at the hesitancy that manifested itself in the form of a frown creasing Michael’s brow. “May I suggest starting on, say, your right shoulder? Somewhere which is easily accessible, relatively painless, and where we can start small and see how it goes?”

Michael looked up at Ianto and nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, not sounding nearly as eager as he’d been just five minutes ago.

“You sure you want to do this?” Ianto checked. When Michael nodded again, his eyes hardening with determination, Ianto gestured for him to remove his shirt and sit himself up on the bed-chair.

“Just try to relax, the worst part is not knowing what to expect, it’ll hurt to start with, but after a moment your body will begin releasing endorphins that should dull most of the pain you might feel,” Ianto said, reassuring Michael as he reached for a fresh pair of gloves and a packet of alcohol wipes.

Michael stripped down to his undershirt and slid himself up onto the bed-chair; his previously immaculately pressed shirt bunched up between nervous fingers as Ianto sat himself on a stool before him and ripped open the wipes.

“This is just to clean your skin before we begin,” Ianto stated as he began cleaning the area he planned to work upon. Satisfied, he picked up a stick of adhesive and swiped it over the skin he’d just cleaned.

“The adhesive I’ve just applied will make sure that this-,” he picked up one of the pieces of Michael’s design and began positioning it cautiously over the area he’d just prepared before pressing it directly against Michael’s upper arm, “-copies my copy of your design onto your skin,” he pealed the paper away, eying the outline left upon Michael’s arm.

“Ta-da!” Ianto said with a smile as he pushed back and reached behind him for a small, hand-held mirror, which he held out for Michael to use to inspect the placement and proportion. Whilst his client was occupied, Ianto fetched his supplies; inks, fresh needles, his tattooing gun, and began to set up. When he lifted his head to check on Michael, it was to find that the other man was paying more attention to what he was doing than he was towards the design upon his arm.

Ianto smiled and reached out to take the mirror back, before explaining about Torchwood’s policies on health and safety, hygiene and using fresh needles for every client.

“Everything okay?” Ianto asked as he finished attaching the needle to the tattooing machine.

“Everything’s okay,” Michael agreed, unsmiling.

“You should try to relax,” Ianto encouraged, moving forward on his stool and rolling his table of supplies with him.

“I am relaxed,” Michael said, and though his tone was level, his eyes showed his defensiveness at the comment. Ianto surreptitiously started up the machine, watching as Michael jumped none too lightly at the _bzzzt_ sound that echoed around the confines of his workspace.

Ianto bit at his bottom lip, to keep from grinning both at Michael’s initial reaction as well as his embarrassment over said reaction.

“Please, Michael,” Ianto began, “just take a few deep breaths and relax. This isn’t going to hurt nearly so much as you think it will. I’ll start slow, but if you jump like that then your ‘ _Moaning Man_ ’ will end up a looking like grinning loon more than anything else, and I just don’t think my reputation could survive a mistake like that!”

Michael let out a slow huff of air, settling himself more comfortably upon the bed-chair. Ianto started the gun up again and let it run for a moment, allowing for Michael to get used to the sound. After a moment Michael nodded towards him, a sign for him to begin.

“So, tell me about this man I’m inking,” Ianto opened, moving the gun towards the black ink pot and dipping the needle inside. Michael eyed everything Ianto did with a high level of suspicion, as if at any moment he expected Ianto to lunge for him and stab the needle into his arm.

Ianto moved slowly, cautiously, as he brought the machine up towards Michael’s upper arm. The first touch of the needle to skin brought a minute flinch from Michael but nothing else. Ianto flicked his eyes over Michael’s face, but found his stare to be intent upon the tattooing gun in Ianto’s hand. Pressing forward again, Ianto began to ink the first stroke- a line that would soon join a myriad of other lines to create a design of epic proportions. It was Ianto’s most ambitious piece yet, and he was determined himself to make sure every envisioning Michael had for the piece could be met.

Michael didn’t flinch again.

“You wouldn’t be putting on a brave face just for me, would you?” Ianto asked, flashing Michael a smile as he pulled the gun away, wiping over the spot he was working on to remove the excess ink.

Michael smiled tightly at him but said nothing else. Taking that as his cue, Ianto refilled the needle and brought it back up to Michael’s arm

“It's to remind me that sometimes it’s okay to do something wrong in order to do something right.” Michael said before Ianto could restart.

Ianto paused, finding something innately ominous about those words as he looked up to meet Michael’s watching eyes. He frowned slightly.

“Your question,” Michael clarified, “that is what it means to me.”

“Oh.” Ianto nodded as if understanding and dropped his gaze back to Michael’s arm, pushing his unease aside as he touched the needle to flesh and began working once more.

He didn’t know Michael well enough to ask him what exactly he meant by that, even though he felt that some sort of reply was necessary in response to the comment. He said nothing however and the rest of their session lapsed into one of silence, interrupted only by the hum of the tattooing iron as Ianto worked the lines of Michael’s design into his arm.

Just over an hour later, Ianto put the gun down and stretched his back.

“I think we’ll stop there for the night,” he said, reaching out to swab at the freshly inked section before applying a salve to the area. He handed Michael the mirror to inspect the first part of his tattoo.

Instead of looking pleased about it, Ianto was shocked to find that Michael seemed to pale at the sight instead. Ianto stood swiftly. Either Michael was not impressed with his work, or the reality of being inked for the first time was gearing him up to be a fainter.

“Are you okay?” Ianto asked, he shucked his gloves- tossing them into the disposal bin beside his stool- and fetched a glass of water for Michael.

Michael sipped slowly at the water, even as his eyes continued to stare into the mirrored image on his arm.

“Michael?” Ianto prompted, biting his lip with nervousness. He didn’t want to believe that Michael hated the inking after only their first session, especially not after he’d done so much research into Ianto and his capability as a tattoo artist. After he’d put so much faith into Ianto’s abilities.

“I’m fine, Ianto,” Michael answered. He dragged his eyes from the mirror and handed it back to Ianto who was still hovering worriedly beside him. Michael offered him a strained sort of smile.

“I just can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” He looked at his arm, holding it out and twisting it to see the skin move beneath the ink, “It makes everything all that more of a reality. I… there’s no turning back from this. I think I’ve just realised what I’m doing and…” he shook his head, laughing softly as he dropped his arm and looked up to meet Ianto’s concerned gaze.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I fear I’ve become rather melancholy all of a sudden.”

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Ianto offered, a strange urge to tell Michael that whatever it was he was doing, he could turn back from it, that there was always a way to turn back. He held his tongue instead and watched as Michael shook his head again.

“So, how do I look after this then?” Michael asked. Subject closed.

Ianto pursed his lips a moment before slipping back into a professional mode as he began to explain the aftercare requirements for the tattoo; no soaking the area, no scratching, how to bathe it, how frequently to apply the _Retcon_ , _Torchwood_ ’s own brand of aftercare balm, and so on and so forth. Convinced Michael knew everything, Ianto set him up with the _Retcon_ and wrapped the tattoo in a layer of clingfilm- to be left on for a couple of hours at least- before inviting Michael back the following evening for his next session.

“Thank you,” Michael said as he was paying up the total for his first session. Ianto smiled and handed over his receipt, watching as Michael shrugged on his suit jacket and slipped out the front door without a second glance. He wondered if Michael would come back the following evening. Something in the other man’s reaction to seeing his skin inked made Ianto think that after tonight he’d either never return or that he’d return with an even firmer resolve than he’d had to start with. A part of him wasn’t sure which outcome he hoped for.

Biting at the piercings on his bottom lip, Ianto turned and made his way back to his cubicle to begin the cleanup of his workstation.

“Strange guy, huh?” Ianto looked up to find Jack leaning in his doorway. He flashed the older man a smile and a nod as he chucked the last piece of rubbish into the bin.

“There’s something about him though,” he said, straightening in time to catch the glint of a smirk in Jack’s eyes.

Ianto laughed, reaching out to smack him lightly on the arm, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jack.”

“Ah, come on, Ianto, you know life’s better down on my level,” Jack grinned, grabbing at Ianto’s hips and drawing him into a quick kiss. “What say you and me head off to grab a bite to eat?” He invited, pulling back.

Ianto raised his eyebrows, “Are we talking food or sex here?”

“Oh I was thinking maybe a little bit of both,” he offered, kissing at Ianto’s lips again, “I’ve got Owen and Toshiko locking up for the night. I’m free and you’ve just finished your last client, and I’ve really, really missed you.”

“You missed me?” Ianto asked, coyly running his fingers down the length of Jack’s chest and stomach, his palm comfortably cupping itself over Jack’s groin a moment later, “Or do you mean your little friend here missed me?”

“Hey, not so much on the little,” Jack defended with a grin as he rolled his hips into Ianto’s palm. “What do you say?”

“Hmmm,” Ianto purred, rubbing his palm lightly between Jack’s legs, “I guess I could be persuaded.”

\- - -

Dinner turned out to be the Chinese leftovers Ianto had stashed in the fridge from the night before. There was barely enough left for two, Ianto noted as he shoved the half-filled carton into the microwave to zap some life back into the limp noodles. Still, it was more sustenance than he’d been expecting to get as Jack crowded him from behind, his hips rocking suggestively against his arse as he nuzzled his nose against Ianto’s neck.

“I thought I was getting fed first?” Ianto mused, smiling even as he bent his neck to let Jack’s mouth trail its way up towards his ear.

“I don’t think I want to wait that long,” Jack purred, pressing wet, lingering kisses to the spot just behind his earlobe. Ianto sucked in a sharp breath of air, his eyelids fluttering as a quiver of delight spread through his body.

“I’m…” his breath hitched as one of Jack’s hands slid from his hip to between his legs without hesitation, “I’m hungry,” Ianto tried protesting. The smile he felt pressing against his neck told him Jack didn’t believe a word of it. At least, not in the hungry-for-food kind of sense anyway.

“I’ve got something that’ll fill you up,” he offered, nipping at the curve of Ianto’s ear and rocking his hips forward once more. Ianto choked back a moan, holding himself still and tense in a futile effort not to give into Jack so easily.

“Yeah?” he breathed, moving his hands to grip at the counter before him, he turned his face towards Jack, catching at his mouth and pressing awkward kisses to his wandering lips.

“Yeah,” Jack grinned, nipping at his chin. “It’s right here,” he said with a lazy thrust against Ianto, “in my pants.”

Ianto laughed, turning in Jack’s arms, his eyes shining with mirth. “Of course it is,” he replied, happily receiving an open-mouthed kiss from Jack for his humour.

“You should take a look,” Jack continued, pulling away slightly, breathing heavily against Ianto’s lips as he ghosted over his mouth, “I think you’ll like what you find.”

Something in the way Jack said his words had Ianto raising an eyebrow at him, his eyes flickering down to Jack’s crotch and the visible outline of his erection. He looked up again, narrowing his eyes as he caught Jack’s attempt at an innocent look.

“What did you do?” Ianto asked, his hands already tugging at Jack’s belt buckle even as he asked. He didn’t miss that this might be some trickery on Jack’s part, throwing Ianto a nonexistent bone just to see if he would bite; Jack was always thinking up new and exciting ways to get Ianto into his pants, after all. And if Ianto was honest, suggesting that there might be something in his pants (aside from the obvious) was certainly a step up from his attempted antics with hockey sticks and tape measures.

Jack gave an exaggerated moan as Ianto unfastened him enough to slip a hand into his pants; nimble fingers cupping and stroking the bulk of Jack’s cock before sliding down in a long, slow tease until he reached the head and… and…

Ianto’s eyes widened, his fingers pressing more firmly against the head of Jack’s cock, watching as Jack shivered delightedly at the touch, his grin smug as he thrust himself into Ianto’s hand.

“Jack-,” Ianto’s voice was more a strained whisper now, his thumb swiping across the metallic protrusions he could feel titivating Jack’s flesh. As long as he’d known Jack, the Captain had always had what was commonly referred to as a ‘Prince Albert’ genital piercing; a piercing Ianto had quickly grown to appreciate for its ability to enhance the sexual pleasure he received from Jack (Jack had been understanding enough their first few times together to remove the piercing before sex, allowing Ianto to build up his appetite for trying new things with a willing partner before introducing him to the joys of sex and piercings).

Now though, as he pushed Jack a step or two backwards and dropped himself to his knees before the other man, Ianto’s mind was in overdrive at the certainly that, in the space of time he’d been out of the country for, Jack had acquired another genital piercing- or two!- to compliment his existing Prince Albert.

“Jeez…” Ianto hissed through his teeth as he finally extracted Jack’s cock from his pants to find that the smooth ridging he’d felt were indeed piercings. His eyes widened slightly at the sight as he ran his hand up Jack’s length, before tenderly fingering the head and the new adornments piercing the flesh either side of his urethral.

“When did you get these done?” Ianto asked, eying the original Prince Albert and the newly acquired double Dydoe piercings with both a critical and lust-filled look.

“Not long after you were gone,” Jack said with a grin as he looked down at Ianto who unconsciously licked at his lips as he examined Jack’s new piercings.

“Did you do them yourself?” Ianto ran his fingers over the head of Jack’s cock and Jack shivered at the touch, his belly quivering as Ianto looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Owen helped,” Jack answered, his eyes fluttering as Ianto moved his hand to grip at the base of Jack’s cock whereupon he began stroking the length with slow, deliberate rubs.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of Owen being this close to your cock,” Ianto teased, procuring a condom from seemingly nowhere and skilfully rolling it onto him, his fingers tightening in a quick squeeze once the latex was in place. Jack hissed, the unconscious pumping of his hips belying any sounds of discomfort he made at Ianto’s firm touch. He didn’t have the chance to voice any objections anyway as Ianto leant in soon after and touched his lips to Jack’s flesh, his tongue slipping past his lips to lave over the metallic intrusions pierced through his skin.

Both men moaned with the first touch; Ianto opening his mouth a little wider to suck Jack slowly into the heat of his mouth, enjoying the smooth feel of the barbell jewellery against his tongue.

“Ianto-,” Jack choked out, hands clenching in Ianto’s hair, tugging as he urged Ianto both to stop and to continue. Waiting until Jack was on the verge of fulfilment, Ianto pulled away with a wolfish grin, licking his lips provocatively as he looked up at Jack’s flushed face.

“What say we move this somewhere more comfortable?” Ianto asked, pushing to his feet.

Jack grabbed him as he rose, pulling him into his arms and attacking his mouth with vigour. “You are such a tease,” Jack hissed out between kisses, his hands roaming across Ianto’s body, undoing buttons and zippers as he went till Ianto’s state of dress was just as- if not more so- rumpled as his own.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Ianto grinned at him, his hand moving between their bodies to grab at Jack’s cock once again, enjoying the way Jack’s breath hitched at the touch and his eyes rolled with the pleasure of Ianto’s stroking hand.

“If I’d known this morning that you’d got yourself all pierced up for me, Jack,” Ianto purred, nipping at Jack’s lips, “I’d have let you have you way with me.”

Jack made a sound very much like a whimper and Ianto chuckled against his cheek, walking Jack out of his kitchenette and towards the living room where he had a perfectly good couch waiting to receive the pair of them.

“If I’d known…” he whispered, laving his tongue in a lick across Jack’s jaw as he fisted his hand up then down then up again, his fingers teasingly touching at the freshest piercings and shivering with his own pleasure as Jack’s breath hitched and his hips jerked up into the touch.

“If I’d known, I’d have let you do me right there in the front room,” Jack groaned, his eyes flickering at the fantasy of being able to bend Ianto over the reception desk and taking him then and there, leaving him bared and wanting and for the world to watch.

“God, yes,” Jack breathed, allowing himself to be led into Ianto’s living room and pushed down onto the couch with Ianto climbing onto his lap moments later; pressing their bodies flush as he leant in to kiss at Jack’s mouth once more.

“Yes,” Jack moaned, his fingers moving to hold at Ianto’s thighs as the other man kissed him deeply, his hand fisting at Jack again as their mouths moved wetly together, lust and desperation building between them till Jack had to pull away with a harsh pant; his own hand moving to still Ianto’s hold on his cock before he finished things too soon.

“God I’ve missed you, this…” He grabbed at Ianto’s hips, pulling him in till their groins were flush and thrust up against Ianto, who moaned wantonly, his head falling back as Jack licked a trail from his collar bone to the tip of his chin.

Jack slipped his hands round to press at the small of Ianto’s back, fingers dipping beneath the looseness of the pants he’d managed to undo if not remove completely. He slipped one hand down the back of Ianto’s pants, fingers squeezing gently, suggestively, as he moved his hand down, curving it round to press eagerly between Ianto’s cheeks.

Ianto groaned, arching up into Jack; eyes closed and head thrown back with pleasure, as Jack teased his fingers into him one by one, whilst his mouth tongued at Ianto’s chest and the nipple ring he’d had the pleasure of branding Ianto with once upon a time.

“Jack,” Ianto panted, one hand dropping to his own crotch, fingers desperate to remove his erection from the confines of his pants, desperate to have Jack’s hands on him and his cock inside him.

“I need…” he choked off as Jack gently crooked a finger inside him, spikes of pleasure shooting through him and curling his toes with ecstasy. “Need you,” he pleaded, hips rocking against Jack’s abdomen. “Want you,” he breathed, “so deep in me,” he found Jack’s mouth, head dipping for a wet, uncoordinated kiss, “please.”

It didn’t take much pleading for Jack to oblige him, and with deft, practiced movements he managed to divest Ianto of enough clothing to urge him up and then down onto his own straining erection; Ianto moaning with the initial stretching before crying out his gratification as Jack proceeded to move inside him, his hips rising and falling to meet Jack’s thrusts, the feel of Jack’s pierced head stroking at his prostrate had him choking on his moans, whimpering his delight, till (much sooner than even he had anticipated) their desires were met with a mutually explosive end.

Spent, they collapsed against each other, falling sideways onto the couch and laying there till discomfort dislodged them and forced them to take their next round of antics through to the bedroom.

They never did get round to eating the Chinese in the microwave.


	6. Five.

  
“So,” Gwen drawled, latching herself to Ianto’s arm the following morning as he checked the appointments book for an idea of his workload that day. “How did it go?”  


“Oh, you know,” Ianto replied, nonchalantly as he ran a finger down his list of clients, “The usual really… he promised to feed me but the only thing that ended up filling my mouth-,”

“Ianto!” Gwen screeched, pressing her hands to her eyes with a laugh, as if somehow this would stop the words from filtering through to her brain. “You know I was talking about Michael, not Jack!”

Ianto grinned wickedly at her. “You were?” He asked in mock innocence as she peeked at him through her fingers, “Well Michael didn’t put anything in my-,”

“Ianto!” Gwen yelled out again, smacking at him with a laugh. “You dirty bugger! I _mean_ how did your _work session_ go with Michael?”

“Oh, _that_!” Ianto said, dragging out the words as if finally understanding Gwen’s initial question.

“Yes, _that_!” Gwen agreed, rolling her eyes at him.

“It went well,” he looked thoughtful, “he’s definitely as mysterious as we’d all imagined him to be. There’s something funny about him too,” he drifted off.

“Funny ha-ha or funny strange?” Gwen pressed, her face rapt with interest. Ianto chuckled.

“Funny strange, but in a secretive way more than anything,” he explained. “You know how most people want to talk about their tattoos- why they’re getting it? What it means to them? What their dog had for breakfast that morning?” Gwen giggled, nodding her head in agreement. “Well Michael did none of that. He… was very closed-off when it came to questions.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” She shot him a pointed look, smiling.

“Hmmm,” Ianto shook his head, “hopefully he’s not hiding bodies in the basement or anything quite so sinister.”

“His tattoo _is_ very _Red Dragon_ though, isn’t it?” Gwen grinned and Ianto laughed again.

“Don’t worry, you’re not nearly podgy enough to be kidnapped,” he quipped, before ducking a well-aimed swipe at his head, Gwen’s _Oi!_ ringing out across the room as she began to chase him around the reception desk.

“I kid! I kid!” Ianto laughed, letting Gwen catch up to him whereupon she proceeded to tickle him mercilessly.

“I’ll give you podgy, Ianto Jones!” She exclaimed, reducing him to a writhing, giggling mess behind the reception desk till Owen was forced to come through, distracted and irritated by the noise.

“Mercy!” Ianto yelled out, reaching pleadingly in Owen’s direction as Gwen continued to attack his stomach.

Owen rolled his eyes, his amusement evident however as he stooped, scooping Gwen up into his arms in one deft move and carrying her- kicking and screaming with laughter- through into the staffroom, giving Ianto ample time to recover and straighten himself out.

“I’m all rumpled now,” Ianto bemoaned, slightly breathless as he picked himself up off the floor.

Toshiko, stepping into the front room, shook her head at him.

“Hell hath no fury like a Welshwoman,” she said, smiling. Ianto just grinned at her, trying to straighten out the poet’s shirt and waistcoat combination he was sporting today.

“Hell hath no fury like Gwen,” he retorted and Toshiko smiled back.

“What did you say to her anyway?” She asked, moving to look over the appointments book herself.

“We’re not even going there,” Ianto said and Toshiko raised her eyebrows.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Why don’t you tell me how your session with Mr Schofield went yesterday, then?”

Ianto groaned inwardly and tried to keep his comments as strictly job-related as possible as he answered her questions on Michael.

For the record, Toshiko’s nails were far sharper than Gwen’s.

\- - -

That evening saw Ianto setting out his equipment whilst Michael scrutinised the positioning of the ascending angel that followed on from the moaning man he’d started on the previous night.

In truth he was surprised, though not overly so, that Michael had in fact returned to _Torchwood_ , willing to continue on with his tattoo. He could sense a new resolve in Michael, an even stronger determination to see his tattoo completed than he’d initially had. A determination that was more than a little intimidating in the face of its intensity.

Ianto finished his preparation, looking up at Michael and checking to see if the placement was to his liking.

“It is,” Michael agreed, smiling just slightly towards Ianto.

“How have you been finding the first section?” Ianto asked, nodding towards the upper part of his arm which they’d started on the previous day. He stepped forward, gloved hands touching fleetingly at the inked lines as he eyed them speculatively.

“It looks to be healing nicely,” he commented and Michael nodded.

“It’s felt fine. Started itching a little earlier on, but I just rubbed in some of the _Retcon_ to ease that off.”

Ianto made a sound of agreement, “Good. Don’t use too much of it, though. And definitely no scratching.”

“Yes, sir!” Michael laughed and Ianto grinned back at him before stepping away and fetching his stool.

“You seemed surprised to see me tonight,” Michael said as Ianto began to ink the first lines of the new segment. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Ianto agreed, smiling fleetingly. “But you’re here now, and I have every faith that you will see this through to the end.”

Michael nodded his agreement, even though Ianto was too absorbed in his inking to notice it. A period of silence fell over them with Ianto moving the tattooing gun confidently over Michael’s skin and Michael gradually relaxing into the bed-chair, as the scratching sensation brought on by Ianto’s work eventually beginning to numb to a dull throb more than the initial sharp pain.

“So, what made you decide to get inked?” Ianto ventured, dipping his tattoo gun into an inkpot for a quick refill before resuming his work.

“I don’t suppose you’d take ‘a midlife crisis’ as an answer?” Michael asked, smiling at Ianto’s brief laugh.

“Not really, no,” Ianto agreed, flicking his gaze up momentarily but not pressing for answers.

“I’m doing it for my brother,” Michael said after a long moment. “He gave up everything and more for me, but I was too blinded to see. I turned my back on him when he needed me most, and now…” he sighed softly, staring up at the ceiling. “This is for him. I’m doing it all for him.”

Michael sounded saddened and Ianto frowned to himself, wondering at Michael’s desire to get the entire half of his upper body inked in remembrance of his brother- a brother that Ianto could only assume was dead by the way Michael spoke of him.

“A heart with his name through it wouldn’t have done the trick?” He asked, inflicting enough compassion and humour into the question to let Michael know the question wasn’t meant insensitively.

Michael huffed out a brief laugh, taking the comment in jest. “I don’t like to do things by halves.”

“That’s a good philosophy to live by,” Ianto agreed. Knowing that there was no point in doing something if weren’t going to give it your full attention.

“What made you decide to do this for a living?” Michael questioned, turning the topic from himself.

“Tattooing?” Ianto asked, frowning bemusedly. “Chance mostly,” he said when Michael nodded for him to answer.

“Chance?” Michael prompted.

“Well, jeez, it seems a lifetime ago now, but I originally moved to Chicago to study law,” Ianto said and Michael raised his eyebrows.

“Laughable, I know,” he grinned, “but at the time it seemed the thing to do. It was what my parents expected of me, you know?”

Michael nodded though he said nothing, waiting only for Ianto to continue.

“I just got to a point where… well,” he paused in his inking, “someone I loved very much managed to convince me that law wasn’t what I wanted to be doing for the rest of my life.”

He wiped the excess ink from Michael’s arm and continued on, “I could have ended up doing anything I suppose,” he pressed on, turning his thoughts away from Lisa and the memory of one of their last times together- even now it still made him ache to think of her in those last moments.

“I ended up coming here for my first tattoo, and once I found Torchwood, the rest as they say is history. I handed in my CV one day and was hired pretty much on the spot as an apprentice.”

“This person you loved…?” Michael drifted off as if not quite sure how to ask.

“She passed away, yes,” Ianto supplied.

“I’m sorry.” Michael apologised, wincing a little in apology for bringing it up.

Ianto smiled, “thank you.”

“So, Torchwood?” He asked, trying to steer the subject back to safer territory.

“My parents weren’t exactly thrilled,” Ianto said, shooting Michael a wry look, “but I’m happy. Happier than I would have been otherwise.”

“Only happy?” Michael asked, curious.

Ianto looked up. “What more can you ask for?”

The look Michael gave him was more open and honest than any look Ianto could ever have expected to see on him; he looked sad, and thoughtful, and more than a little bit depressed by the direction of their conversation.

Ianto bit at his lips and the piercings he had on his bottom lip, chewing at them as he turned back to Michael’s arm and continued on the design. Silence reigning between them for the remainder of their session.

\- - -

The weeks following on from those first few sessions saw Ianto and Michael striking up an unexpected friendship, one that at times seemed to transcend the usual artist-client type relationship Ianto was used to having with his customers, and as such he began to anticipate his evening sessions with Michael despite his daily workload; looking forward to the small talk and the sometimes-banter they could share with one another.

Ianto was careful to keep the majority of his attention on Michael’s tattoo during their sessions, however, and as such he managed to finish up on the right sleeve of Michael’s design and make a significant start on the left with only a few small snags holding things up.

He knew how adamant Michael was about his tattoo being exactly as he’d envisioned, but as his tattoo artist, when Ianto spotted a few minor flaws with the exact sizing and placement of some of the images, he had no qualms about addressing the matter with his client. Not even when said client shot him a decidedly unimpressed look at the mere suggestion they change something in the design.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Ianto laughed, beckoning Michael over towards the workbench and the image he’d been looking over before Michael arrived for one of his semi-regular evening sessions.

“I was thinking we might change something to this part of the design,” Ianto suggested, pointing towards the image of a woman holding a vessel from which poured both water and the words ‘ _Cute Poison_ ’.

“In my opinion, which you are of course free to disregard, I think it’s too large for the space we have left,” he reached for Michael’s arm and lifted the paper to hold it against the skin. “See how she overlaps the rest of the design? I know you’re looking for perfection here and I think we could probably downscale it a little bit to fit her in, but I’m not sure how much of the detail we could keep if we did so.”

Michael frowned deeply, his gaze intent upon his arm and the piece of design Ianto held up against it.

“I need all the lines to connect to one another,” Michael began slowly. He took the design from Ianto and lay it upon the workbench. “Have you got a pencil?” he asked. Ianto obliged him, passing him an eraser before Michael could think to ask for that too.

They stood in silence for a few moments as Michael ran his eyes over the piece, his gaze flickering between the paper and what was already inked into his skin before he reached for the sketchpad Ianto had left beside the design and began etching out a new filler for the space.

“I need all of the detail,” Michael began, the words almost a muttering to himself than to Ianto, “but she was just for decoration.” His hand moved confidently over the page, pencil scratching the lines of a new design, and Ianto was enraptured by Michael’s intensity- watching the crease of Michael’s brow, the narrowing of his eyes, the way his mouth thinned out in concentration and his head cocked just ever so slightly to the right as he worked, as if the weight of his creativity had too much of a hold on him in this moment.

When at last Michael’s hand stilled and he pulled away from the sketchpad, Ianto moved it over to admire his work. There was no denying that Michael was a skilled artist, or that he didn’t have an innate ability to deduce scale and size with merely a glance. He lifted the pad and eyed it critically, noting that Michael had scaled everything to fit into the space that remained on his arm to perfection. What they’d been left with instead of the woman was simply the image of the vessel pouring into a drain, the words ‘Cute Poison’ still following the flow of water.

He gestured to Michael for the pencil, which he handed over with only a little hesitancy, and began to define a few of Michael’s less prominent lines, ensuring that if Michael approved this as the final design, Ianto could work on making a carbon copy of it as swiftly as possible. He eventually passed the sketchbook back towards Michael, who scanned it with his usual intensity.

“Are you okay with this?” Ianto asked.

“Yes,” Michael agreed. “It still retains the purpose of the initial image. Nothing that was pivotal to this piece has been lost.”

“One day you’re going to have to tell me what everything means,” Ianto said, shooting Michael an almost coy look as he ripped the page from the pad and began working his own magic on it.

“One day,” Michael agreed; his voice low and sad sounding. Ianto caught Michael’s frown out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he’d turned back to face the other man, Michael was smiling softly at him once more.

Applying the transfer soon after and confirming the placement a few minutes later, Ianto shortly began work on the last segment of Michael’s right sleeve; the humm of the tattoo gun filling the contemplative silence between them.


	7. Six.

  
Michael was lying on the bed-chair, his fingers curled and clenching intermittently into the fabric of his pants as Ianto worked on the chest piece part of his design- the Devil seconds away from killing the defenceless Angel. Though his eyes stared vacantly at a spot on the ceiling above and his face remained poised and expressionless, Ianto could tell that the area he was working on felt particularly sensitive to Michael.  


“Are you naturally hairless?” Ianto asked as a distraction, pausing in his tattooing to wipe away the excess ink.

Michael frowned then, his eyes flickering down to look at Ianto questioningly.

Ianto gestured to Michael’s chest, moving the tattooing gun into position to continue working the area surrounding Michael’s right nipple.

“Pieces like this are far more effective if you don’t have to remove unwanted hair,” Ianto commented as if to explain. Michael made a sound of agreement and Ianto smiled slightly, knowing that Michael didn’t really have a clue as to what he was talking about.

“Waxing removes a layer of skin each time, you see,” Ianto explained, more to keep Michael’s attention from his discomfort than for any need to fill an otherwise quiet session with idle chatter. “And shaving leaves the skin prickly, which isn’t pleasant by any means,” he continued, pausing to sneak a glance at Michael’s continued frown. “And if you decide to leave everything looking all au naturale, it just looks very odd.”

“You’ve spent a great deal of time thinking on it,” Michael said, his voice tight but amused.

“I’ve done a few chest pieces in my time,” Ianto agreed, pausing in his work as Michael hissed as if in pain.

“You okay?” Ianto asked, sitting back a moment.

“Fine,” Michael answered, shifting a little.

“If it hurts too much I can move onto another area?” Ianto offered, chewing on his bottom lip.

“It doesn’t hurt so much,” Michael said, looking at and then away from Ianto as a flush of colour came to his cheeks. Ianto grinned outright then, realising that it wasn’t so much the pain that was causing Michael his discomfort.

“You ever considered getting pierced, Michael?” Ianto asked, putting the tattoo gun down a moment and shaking his fingers out to relax them a little.

Michael looked directly at him then. “What-,” he started, his eyes wide and his expression more than a little scandalised, “you mean in the nipple?”

“Yeah,” Ianto laughed, “It doesn’t hurt all that much, and if you’ve got sensitive nipples already, just imagine…”

“Wait,” Michael lifted a hand to stop him before he could go any further. “You have one?” he asked, curious.

Ianto grinned, nodding. Michael opened his mouth to question him before catching himself, looking as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask further.

Ianto’s grin lessened to a more professional smile as cocked his head towards Michael. “Would you like to see it?”

Michael looked at him for a heartbeat before nodding his head, his eyes widening fractionally as he watched Ianto stand and tug off his gloves before moving to lift his shirt upwards, showing off the small, silver ring pierced through his left nipple.

“And that didn’t hurt?” Michael asked, disbelievingly. Ianto tried not to grin outright as he remembered the exact circumstances surrounding his first ever piercing.

“Any pain I felt was quick to fade,” Ianto said, dropping his shirt.

“What about those?” Michael asked, gesturing to his mouth and the snakebite piercings he had adorning either side of his bottom lip. Ianto lifted his hand, touching at his mouth a moment before shrugging slightly.

“They hardly hurt at all,” he explained.

“What made you get them?” Michael asked, sitting up now to better eye Ianto’s piercings.

“I thought they’d look good,” he smiled, “I tend to forget they’re even there now if I’m honest.”

“I think you’d look fine without them,” Michael said, and though the comment was made only with innocent intentions, both Michael and Ianto were quick to look away from one another, suddenly silent and feeling an impromptu awkwardness settle between them.

Ianto turned to his workbench, snatching up a fresh pair of gloves and reseating himself before Michael who smiled somewhat sheepishly at him before settling back down onto the bed-chair. Ianto picked up his tattooing gun and moved into place, his hands moving confidently over Michael’s chest as he pushed all other thoughts to the back of his mind, intent on concentrating solely on the piece before him.

For the first time since getting his lip piercings, however, Ianto was seriously considering taking them out. But that was just silly. Wasn’t it?

\- - -

Ianto stopped earlier than usual that evening, putting the gun down with an apology on his lips as he massaged the building ache his hand.

“It’s been a busy week,” he said by way of explanation as Michael looked curiously at him. “If you just give me a couple of minutes?”

“I tell you what, how about we both call it a night?” Michael offered with a small smile. Ianto blinked up at him in surprise.

“If you’re sure?” He asked slowly.

“I know I’ve been pushing you to do this for me,” said Michael, “I don’t know what your workload is like during opening hours, but you never complain about having to work on me for the hours you do after closing time. I think I maybe owe you a bit of slack.”

Ianto laughed, “I’m as excited about this piece as you are, Michael. You know I don’t mind doing the work, but if you’re sure you’re okay with it, I definitely wouldn’t say no to a night off.”

“No problem,” Michael agreed, “I think my body could do with the night off too, if I’m honest.”

Ianto smiled at him, cleaning up the freshly inked area before rubbing a thin layer of the _Retcon_ over the tattoo. He moved away then, letting Michael get dressed as he removed and disposed of his gloves and the equipment he wouldn’t be able to sterilise and reuse.

Once they’d both finished, Ianto led Michael through into the front shop, where Toshiko was bent over the counter, sketching away in a notebook. She looked up with a smile as they stepped through.

“Hey Tosh,” Ianto smiled, “I thought you’d be at the club setting up by now?”

“Adam had to work late so we’ve managed to arrange a slightly later set,” she answered, closing her notebook, “Mary and Tommy are at _The Hub_ dropping off our stuff but nothing’s starting for a while yet.”

“You’re in a band?” Michael asked, handing Ianto his payment- in cash- for his session that evening.

“What, you mean Ianto hasn’t been gushing about my music to all and sundry?” Toshiko asked, her eyes growing comically wide as she pressed her hand to her chest in faux distress.

“Um,” Michael laughed, “it must have slipped his mind?”

“Slipped his mind?” Toshiko turned to look at Ianto with a wounded expression.

“Oops?” Ianto offered, his hands held up and placating as he tried not to laugh outright at her dramatics.

“Ianto, I am offended that my music wasn’t one of the first things you two talked about during your sessions together. How can you be so cruel?”

Ianto laughed then, taking Toshiko’s hands and kissing them both. “Forgive me?” he asked, shooting her his wide-eyed puppy look.

Michael chuckled at their antics, “Why don’t you tell me more about your music instead, Toshiko?” Michael invited, watching the smile that touched Toshiko’s lips as she turned towards him.

“Finished so soon?” Jack's voice rang through the front room as he slipped through from the back, interrupting Toshiko before she could even get started.

“Michael was kind enough to give me the night off,” Ianto jokingly replied, throwing a smile in Michael’s direction.

“Huh, and here I thought that was my job,” Jack said, his tone indulgent as he eyed the three of them. “Listen, I’m off out,” he started, smiling at Ianto, “you got your keys to lock up?”

“Sure, where are you heading?” Ianto asked, his own smile seductive now, inviting Jack to change his plans to involve the pair of them and some much anticipated alone time back at Ianto’s apartment.

“Oh, just here and there, nothing too exciting,” he evaded, flashing his patented Harkness grin as he moved towards the front door. “I’ll see you all on Monday.”

Ianto pursed his lips, the dismissal tasting sour upon his tongue. He turned away from the door, smiling vacantly as Toshiko reengaged Michael in a conversation about her band and where they were playing that evening. Ianto tuned them out, his thoughts still following Jack out the door and wondering what- or rather who- was so not-exciting it would keep Jack away from him for the rest of the weekend.

He bit at the insides of his mouth, trying to still his wandering thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do right now was think of Jack getting it on with some faceless stranger. All he’d achieve by that would be the raising of his blood pressure. It wasn’t as if Jack was exclusively his anyway. Not as if he held any sway over who else Jack wanted to spend his time with over one of the few days they both had off at the same time.

“-and Ianto’s coming tonight, aren’t you?” Toshiko’s voice filtered through the jumble of thoughts and half-hearted rationalisations all vying for attention in Ianto’s head.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, smiling apologetically at Toshiko who shook her head fondly and repeated herself.

“You are still coming out with us tonight, right? You did promise?” She peered at him intently and Ianto only briefly entertained the thought of going home alone and sitting up all night speculating on where and what Jack was doing before deciding that the best thing he could do right now was go out and get blitzed instead.

“Of course,” he smiled, putting his blue mood aside for now, “I did promise, didn’t I?”

“See?” Toshiko turned her smile to Michael, “you simply must come too.”

Ianto blinked, realising that he’d missed far more to the conversation than he’d thought.

“I’m not sure,” Michael hedged, shifting his gaze awkwardly between Toshiko and Ianto.

“Tosh, I’m sure Mr. Schofield has better things to be doing on a Saturday night?”

“Actually, I don’t,” Michael said quickly and Ianto faltered. “I just… I thought you might mind.”

“Mind?” He shot Toshiko a look that had her laughing into her hand.

“I’ve invited Michael along to keep you company, since Gwen’s bringing Rhys and we all know what Owen’s like when he’s in a bar surrounded by women.”

“Oh. Oh!” Ianto touched his hand to his forehead. “Sorry, I don’t mind at all, if you’re up for it you must come.”

“More tired than you thought you were, huh?” Michael smiled, nudging at him with his shoulder. Ianto smiled softly and nodded, happy to blame his distracted thoughts on work for the time being.

“I hope you’re both happy to leave as you are?” Toshiko asked. Michael and Ianto nodded in unison. “Good. I’m driving. Got everything you need?”

“Give me a minute to tidy my station?” Ianto was moving towards the back rooms even as he asked. Toshiko groaned.

“Fine, but I’m timing you,” she called out after him, “you’ve got two minutes, Jones!”

Ianto laughed on cue as he slipped into his workstation and methodically began to tidy away the pieces of Michael’s design, wiping down work surfaces and disposing of anything that couldn’t be reused.

Once finished, Ianto leant against his workbench, slipping his phone from his pocket and staring demurely at it for a moment before typing out a quick message to Jack-

 _“If you change you plans, give me a call xx”_

-he hesitated, finger poised above the send button as he worried his bottom lip with his indecision over whether to send the message or not.

“Knock, knock?” Ianto looked up quickly, seeing Michael leaning up against the door to his workstation. He flashed a small smile towards him.

“Toshiko sent me,” Michael said by way of explanation, head tilting just slightly.

Ianto straightened.

“You know, if you don’t want me to come along tonight, you should just say.” Michael began, “I can make my excuses to Toshiko.”

Ianto shook his head, “Michael, sorry. I don’t mean to give off the wrong impression,”

“But you’d rather I were Jack?”

Ianto looked at him with surprise, seeing the calmly resigned look on Michael’s face. He found his resolve hardening just then and looked down at the phone in his hand, finger still hovering over the send button. He hit cancel instead and slipped his phone into his back pocket.

“No,” Ianto started in reply, smiling more genuinely as he approached the other man, “you’re more than adequate company for tonight.”

Michael smiled back, snagging Ianto’s jacket from the back of the door and holding it out for him.

\- - -

 _Greeks Bearing Gifts_ , Ianto explained to him as they settled into a booth with Gwen and her husband, Rhys, was the name of Toshiko’s band. She played the violin, whilst band mates Mary, Tommy and Adam were responsible for piano and vocals, bass guitar, and drums accordingly. Their style of music also took a bit of getting used to, he warned, whilst Gwen made teasing comments about cats and choirs.

Pretty much from the word go, Ianto could tell that the music wasn’t in any way to Michael’s liking and he grinned, enjoying the look of attention and concentration Michael was directing towards the stage despite this. It wasn’t until Michael turned to him, his gaze questioning that Ianto realised it wasn’t the music holding his rapt attention so much as a certain member of the band.

“Is that real?” He asked pointing towards Toshiko who’s changed out of her corseted business style getup and sported now a long ankle length skirt in a deep burgundy red and a halter-neck top in the same colour that was barely long enough to cover her ample cleavage. Neither of these aspects were what Michael was asking about however.

Instead, he indicated towards her exposed midriff and the oriental dragon tattoo that covered her stomach and- though Michael couldn’t yet tell- circled right around her lower back too.

Ianto grinned, “Of course,” he answered.

Michael looked both intrigued and surprised by this. “I’m not sure why, but I would never have pictured Toshiko as the type to get tattoos and play in bands.”

Ianto laughed, “She does seem more suave and sophisticated than the rest of us, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean-,” Michael apologised but Ianto just brushed his words aside.

“I wouldn’t have taken you as the type to want to get his entire upper body inked either,” Ianto said, pointedly. Michael smiled secretively and reached for the glass of beer sitting before him.

“Touché.” Michael toasted in Ianto’s direction before sipping at his drink.

Toshiko’s band finished their set just over an hour later to a spattering of applause. She disappeared off stage and through the back for a moment before making her way through the crowd towards their booth and slipping herself in beside Gwen and Rhys.

“So, what did you think?” She asked Michael as he turned to smile his greeting towards her. The question was asked lightly and in passing but when all eyes turned to Michael to await his answer, he felt a blush rising up to stain at his cheeks.

Beside him, Ianto laughed and nudged at Michael, encouraging him to answer.

“It was interesting,” he answered eventually and Toshiko smiled indulgently whilst Gwen giggled beside her.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Ianto said, leaning in as if conspiring with him, “we don’t much care for it either.”

Michael looked surprised, shooting a glance first to Ianto and then to Toshiko who was grinning quite smugly now.

“We’re here more for the support,” Gwen offered.

“Speak for yourself,” her husband Rhys interrupted, turning from his conversation with Owen to offer his own opinion. “I’m here for the booze!”

He winked at the table in general before turning back to Owen. Gwen rolled her eyes at him, grinning at Michael.

“How’s the tat going, by the way?” She asked, leaning across the table towards Michael and engaging him in conversation.

Ianto sat back in his seat, smothering a yawn behind his hand and blinking sleepily around the table as he listened with a half-ear to Michael and Gwen talking.

He never did hear Michael’s reply.

“…not as sore as I’d thought-,” Michael cut off his sentence as he felt a dead weight pressing up against his shoulder. He turned his head to look beside him and couldn’t help but smile as he saw that Ianto had fallen asleep and was tilting towards him, his head resting itself half-on Michael’s shoulder.

Without thinking, Michael raised his arm, slinging it across Ianto’s shoulders and allowing Ianto to rest against him more comfortably. He smiled quietly to himself, looking down at Ianto’s sleeping face for a long moment before he remembered himself and turned quickly back to Gwen.

Gwen, however, was talking in hushed tones with Toshiko now, their heads bent as they conspired with one another, apparently oblivious to everyone else around them.

Michael relaxed, settling back into his seat and turning his gaze back to Ianto; smiling.


	8. Seven.

  
Though nothing had happened between them at the gig, something in their dynamic seemed to change in the days following on from their night at _The Hub_. Although initially embarrassed to have awoken to find himself snuggling up to a relative stranger more than anything else, Ianto couldn’t help but remember how nice and comfortable he’d felt lying against Michael’s chest; his head having nuzzled its way to the crook of his neck. He remembered how nice Michael had smelled, how warm he had been, how safe he’d felt in the other man’s arms.  


He remembered too how Michael had smiled down at him with fond amusement, the arm about his shoulders tightening a moment in reassurance as Ianto felt himself blush in the heartbeat between waking up and pulling away from Michael’s embrace with muttered apologies for the intrusion and being such poor company.

Michael had waved his concerns away with another smile and a long, lingering look Ianto was too flummoxed to decipher. They’d left soon after that, both going their separate ways and Ianto had found himself, disturbingly, thinking more of Michael than of Jack for the remainder of his weekend.

The next time they saw each other, at a session a few days afterwards, there appeared to be a frisson in the air between them, as if they both expected something to happen even though nothing ever did. Ianto was at a loss to explain to himself just what he was anticipating, trying to convince himself that he didn’t actually want anything to happen between himself and Michael, even though he secretly wished something would.

They spent the next week or so dancing around the unanticipated elephant in the room as Ianto moved from his work on Michael’s chest to work on his back, spending their sessions mutually talking about everything and nothing (though what Ianto knew about Michael’s personal life could just about fill a coffee cup) and simply enjoying the time spent together.

It occurred to Ianto that he’d never had quite the same rapport with another client before Michael and he wandered, not for the first time, if the sheer scale and magnitude of this project wasn’t influencing his feelings just a little bit. Whatever the authenticity of his feelings in regards to Michael however, it didn’t stop him from inviting Michael out with him (and the rest of the team) for another of Toshiko’s gigs a fortnight later.

Michael agreed with little hesitation and Ianto tried to smother his grin of delight by gnawing at his snakebites till they began to sting.

\- - -

The night of the _Greeks Bearing Gifts_ gig saw the entirety of the Torchwood team, and guests, taking command of a stage-facing booth at _The Hub_ with laughter, good music, and the first round of drinks on Jack- pitchers of beer and brightly coloured shots of vodka- soon setting the tone for the rest of the evening.

Toshiko’s band was one of the last on that evening and Michael commented, leaning close to talk into Ianto’s ear over the sound of their music, that either the style was beginning to grow on him after all or he’d been deafened by all the music they’d heard beforehand. Ianto smiled at him, laughing and nudging at Michael with his shoulder as if to agree.

Beside him, Jack was regaling the rest of the table with an outrageous anecdote regarding a past conquest of his. Ianto rolled his eyes at the story, shifting awkwardly as Michael gave him a raised-eyebrows look.

“It’s just Jack,” he explained, leaning in and smiling a little as if that explained everything. Michael gave him a disbelieving look but made no comment as Owen chimed in, trying to up Jack with his own sordid tale of debauchery.

“I think I’ll leave you boys to your little _talk_ ,” Gwen interrupted them all with a laugh, “I’m done for the night!” She stood with Rhys, grabbing up her jacket and blowing kisses to each of them.

“Ah, come on, Gwen, one more?” Jack encouraged, holding up his glass and offering it to her. She laughed and shook her head.

“Some of us have to work tomorrow,” she laughed, declining. Rhys shot her a put out look as he hurried to finish his beer.

“Spoil sport,” Owen cajoled, slinging an arm around Toshiko’s waist as she joined the table, fresh off the stage.

“Who’s a spoil sport?” She asked, settling herself on Owen’s lap and reaching for his drink.

“Gwen’s leaving!” He answered. Toshiko laughed and offered her cheek for Gwen’s kiss goodbye.

“We need more drink,” Toshiko said turning back to the table after downing the contents of Owen’s glass in one quick swallow. Gwen laughed at her before grabbing Rhys’ unfinished glass, setting it down before Toshiko and dragging him, unwillingly, from the club.

“I think it’s your round, Harkness,” Owen hinted as Toshiko gladly scooped up Rhys’ glass.

“Mine? Wasn’t I just up?” Jack turned to Ianto who was currently engaged in a conversation with Michael. He laid his hand on Ianto’s thigh, gaining his attention.

“You up for another round?” Jack asked, nodding to Michael also. Ianto smiled at him, agreeing for the both of them, and watched as Jack stood and made his way through the throng of people towards the bar. He turned a half-ear to the question Toshiko directed towards Michael as he saw a man in a familiarly bright red jacket step up to Jack, his hand moving to touch with confidence at the small of his back. Jack turned, grinning widely and clapping the other guy on the back.

It was then that he recognised the other man as John Hart, an old acquaintance of Jack’s apparently, who’d attended the same school as him back in the day. Ianto knew that was code for the fact they were once an item. He dropped his gaze to his hands as they tightly gripped his beer glass and forced his fingers to relax. Having John Hart back in town didn’t mean anything. Or rather, it could mean anything, not necessarily that he was back for Jack.

He looked back up, his eyes widening as he failed to locate either man through the crowd surrounding the bar. They were both gone. Ianto felt a sinking sensation in his stomach and pushed his beer away miserably, knowing it wasn’t too much a leap of the imagination to assume that Jack had taken Mr. tall, blond and handsome into the nearest men’s room so that they may have their wicked way with one another. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, wishing he had the courage to step into the loos to confront Jack, but… out of sight, out of mind, as the old adage goes.

To his left, Michael leant towards him, nudging him slightly with his shoulder. Ianto turned his attention from the empty spot at the bar to Michael’s concerned gaze and watched as the other man looked between the bar and himself a moment before speaking.

“You want to get some air?” Michael asked, and the feeling in his stomach quickly turned to a queasy sensation as Ianto realised that Michael had concluded the same as he had. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He reached for his beer and gulped what remained in only a few sips.

Michael laid a hand upon his arm and stood, tugging Ianto with him, willing or not. Too filled with his own turmoil over the way the evening was progressing, Ianto allowed himself to be lead from the bar and out into the cool night air. The freshness of the breeze- a sharp slap of cold air to the inebriated flush of his skin- sobered him enough to pull away from Michael’s grip and slump himself up against an alley wall. He could feel Michael’s gaze upon him but chose to ignore it as he sucked in a lungful or two of air and concentrated on trying not to think about Jack… Jack and…

“You okay?” Michael asked softly, moving to lean against the wall beside Ianto. He slung his arm almost protectively around Ianto’s shoulders, simply smiling when Ianto frowned up at him with confusion.

Ianto looked away just as quickly, muttering a disbelieving, “Always,” in response to the question. Michael tightened his arm a moment in comfort.

“Does he do that a lot?” Michael questioned and Ianto shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it.

“I never for a moment believed all those stories he was telling about past conquests,” Michael mused, leading. Ianto sighed miserably.

“He’s usually more discrete,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper. Michael leant closer to hear his words.

“I thought you two were together though?” Ianto looked up and saw Michael’s frown as he attempted to understand.

“We’re not… exclusive,” Ianto said slowly, unhappily. Michael’s confusion turned to curiosity as he removed his arm from Ianto’s shoulders and moved to stand in front of him instead.

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” Michael observed, watching Ianto carefully. Ianto simply shrugged again but said nothing. Not content with a non-verbal answer, Michael reached out to tip Ianto’s chin up, waiting until those big, blue eyes were watching him before he spoke again.

“If you want more, you should tell him,” Michael prompted, earning a snort of derision for his efforts.

“Jack won’t change who he is for… for just one person.” Ianto muttered.

Michael heard the elusive ‘me’ in that sentence. “What about what you want?” he pressed.

Ianto shook his head, “Can we not talk about Jack just now?” He pulled his face from Michael’s hands, ending the conversation as he looked down at the ground where he was currently digging the toe of his boot into the soft dirt without his usual care.

“May I say just one last thing?” Michael asked after a moment’s silence. Ianto looked up at him, his gaze wary as he nodded his consent.

Michael reached out again, cupping Ianto’s face in his own and ensuring that he had Ianto’s full attention before he spoke.

“If Jack can’t give himself wholly to you,” he said, “then he doesn’t deserve you. Not even a little bit.”

Ianto found himself unable to speak in reply to the deep intensity with which Michael had spoken his words. Words spoken with such honesty that Ianto could almost believe he cared in a way he sometimes doubted Jack did. It was inconceivable to think that a man he barely knew- in the grand scheme of things- could be so protective of him.

Ianto reached up and gripped at Michael’s wrists, his fingers shaking as they touched his skin. Michael smiled gently, stroking his thumbs along the length of his cheekbones as they stared intently at one another before, in a move he found to be rather spontaneous even though he was the one initiating the move, Ianto pressed himself forward enough to be able to touch his lips to Michael’s.

The kiss- a brief touching of lips between breaths- lasted only seconds before Michael pulled away with a look of regret.

“You don’t want to be doing this right now,” Michael said, regretfully. Ianto pulled his face away and looked down, embarrassed both by the rejection and by the knowledge that Michael was right. He nodded, clenching his eyes closed as Michael leant in to press a longer kiss to his crown before stepping away and wordlessly leading Ianto towards the sidewalk and an easily flagged down taxi.

\- - -

When Ianto Jones awoke the next morning, it was with the mother of all hangovers.

Well, that and the glass of water, pack of painkillers, and what looked to be an origami bird sitting unobtrusively upon his bedside table.

He managed a briefly fond smile and prayer of thanks before hurriedly leaning over the side of his bed and throwing up into the inconspicuously placed bucket.


	9. Eight.

  
There was no mention of Jack’s infidelity nor the kiss shared between Ianto and Michael the following evening when Michael turned up, right on time, for his next appointment. Nor the evening after. Nor the week after that. It seemed to suit the pair of them quite well, thank you very much, to pretend as if the whole sorry evening had never happened.  


If Ianto retained a polite distance from Jack in the days after Toshiko’s gig, then it was only his being professional in the workplace (and at home where he turned his phone to silent every evening and insinuated that all the late night sessions with Michael were beginning to take their toll and he just needed to rest a bit longer than usual).

If Ianto tried to maintain just as polite a distance from Michael then again, it was just his attempt at professionalism and concentration as he worked even harder to ensure that Michael’s design ended up as exact as he’d intended for it to be.

If his hands lingered a little longer on Michael’s bare torso than was strictly necessary, and his eyes caressed Michael's face like a touch whenever he made to refill his inks, well… Michael never brought it up, so Ianto didn’t either.

At least not until one session, just over a week later, as Ianto worked on the image of a fallen angel which was placed on the lower half of Michael’s abdomen.

“You’re blushing,” Michael said softly, his voice low enough so as not to startle Ianto as he moved the tattoo gun in expert strokes across his stomach. It was the first thing he’d said in the half-hour since their initial greetings to one another that evening.

“Am I?” Ianto asked, deliberately keeping his head down and his eyes intent upon the area he was tattooing. He could feel the creeping crawl of a blush staining his cheeks and the back of his neck but he refused to acknowledge it, knowing its cause to be utterly unprofessional in nature.

“Yes, you are,” Michael said, raising a hand and touching lightly at the hand Ianto had unconsciously placed, fingers splayed out, across his stomach. “Ianto, stop,” Michael said and Ianto looked up, surprised both by the command and the touch.

Their eyes met for a moment before Michael pushed himself up at the same moment Ianto stood to his feet, both acts bringing them into unexpectedly closer contact. Ianto found himself freezing as he met Michael’s eyes, his cheeks burning in a way he knew was impossible to hide as Michael tentatively reached out and cupped at Ianto’s face, his thumb dragging across Ianto’s parted lips in a slow and deliberate gesture.

Ianto puffed out a gasp of air at the touch, tripping slightly forwards as Michael gently urged him closer, so close now that there were mere inches separating them from one another, so close that Ianto fancied he could feel the heat of Michael’s half-clothed body as they leant in towards one another, their faces- their mouths- but a breath apart, so close that Ianto felt the tingling of his lips as Michael whispered his name in the moment before their mouths pressed together in a kiss too soft and tentative.

Ianto exhaled heavily through his nose, his eyes slipping shut as Michael pushed closer, pressed himself into the kiss until Ianto’s mouth gave way beneath his own, his lips parting willingly to Michael’s urging.

“Ianto, when you get a moment-,” The door opened without warning, Jack’s voice entering Ianto’s cubicle before the man himself and Ianto pulled himself away from Michael so quickly and violently that he found himself backing up into his own tray of equipment, the tray rattling loudly as Ianto fumbled both for his balance and to keep its contents from spilling out across the floor.

Everything went deathly quiet after that.

Cautiously, Ianto raised his eyes to Jack who stared back at him with a hard and yet strangely closed-off expression. He watched as Jack looked between him and Michael, gauging the situation he’d just entered upon and coming to one conclusion. By the time Jack turned back to look at him, Ianto found he had trouble meeting Jack’s eyes despite knowing that this would only serve to make things worse. He forced his gaze up and Jack stared at him for a minute before speaking.

“I see you’re finished for the night,” Jack said, voice deliberately light but brooking no room for argument. Ianto nodded his head, even though they all knew it wasn’t true. Jack pursed his lips, “I’d like to see you in my office, Ianto, the minute Mr. Schofield leaves.”

“Yes, sir.” Ianto said, his voice strong despite the quiver he felt rushing through the rest of him. Jack stared at him for another moment before turning on his heel and vacating the room; without closing the door behind him, Ianto noted.

He wasted no time in apologising to Michael and suggesting he leave right away, promising to reschedule their interrupted appointment for another time.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said when Ianto made a concerted effort to avoid looking at him. His fingers were swift at buttoning his shirt as he spoke, his eyes watching as Ianto fiddled with his equipment, disposing of inkpots and used needles.

Ianto shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said, running a hand through his hair and meeting Michael’s gaze fleetingly.

“I think I do,” Michael pressed, “I believe I’ve just put you in a position with your… boss.”

“Not your fault,” Ianto insisted, forcing a smile. He didn’t miss the way Michael hesitated over what to call Jack.

“I can speak to him if you want?” he offered and Ianto’s smile was a touch more genuine as he led Michael to the door, seeing him out.

“Thanks, but no,” Ianto said, “I can handle this, Michael, don’t worry.”

Michael watched him for a moment before bowing his head in acquiesce. He bid Ianto a goodnight and stepped out into the early night air. Ianto stood in the doorway a moment, breathing deeply of the fresh, icy-breeze that brushed past him before gathering his wits about him and stepping back into the shop. He locked up the front, headed back to his cubicle to finish tidying up and returning Michael’s sketches to his safe, before faltering at the knowledge there was nothing left to do now other than see Jack.

His stomach lurched at the very notion, knowing that Jack was going to be rather unimpressed with him, to say the least. He dragged his feet towards Jack’s door, his knuckles rapping half-heartedly against the wood a split-second before Jack was barking for him to enter. Steeling himself, Ianto took a deep breath and stepped into Jack’s office.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Ianto asked, all faux innocence as he stepped inside. Jack was sitting behind his desk, hands clasped so tightly together before him that his knuckles were straining white. Ianto got the distinct impression that Jack had been sitting like this for the last half-hour he’d spent dilly-dallying around.

“Do you want to tell me _what the fuck_ was going in there?” Jack hissed, his voice hard and barely containing the fury behind his words. Ianto blinked, taken aback both by Jack’s tone and his language.

“Jack?” Ianto questioned, frowning at the other man. This was more than a boss rebuking a employee, Ianto was sure, just from Jack’s words so far he could tell that this was far more personal that that.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Ianto Jones,” Jack spat out, “I want you to explain to me what the hell you were doing playing tonsil-tennis with Mr. Schofield.”

“It wasn’t… we weren’t…” Ianto fumbled, paused, clenching his jaw tightly as he tried to find the right words to explain himself. “Look, Jack,” he tried, tone placating, “it just sort of happened. I didn’t, it certainly wasn’t planned…”

If anything, his words served only to infuriate Jack all the more.

“It just _happened_? It wasn’t _planned_?” Jack repeated with a growl.

“Jack-,” Ianto tried only to be interrupted.

“No,” Jack snarled out. “I don’t care _how_ it happened only that it did. How dare you.”

Ianto tensed, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“How dare I?” He choked out, indignation and anger building. “How dare I _what_ exactly? It was just a kiss! A spontaneous, out of the blue, kiss, Jack. It was hardly anything sordid or worth making a fuss over. Hell, we’ve done worse things together whilst at work!”

“Not with clients, we haven’t!” Jack countered, his eyes sharp and dangerous as he continued with a softer, steelier, “Not when you’re with me, you don’t.”

“What, wait, is _this_ what we’re arguing about? The fact I showed an interest in someone other than you? That’s your problem?” Ianto scoffed, finding Jack’s outrage to be entirely hypocritical when Ianto knew for a fact that they’d never been exclusive, that Ianto had never really been anything more to Jack than- to quote something Owen once said to him- a part-time shag.

“What I have a problem with,” Jack began, his voice deceptively calm, “is you _entertaining_ clients in my studio.”

Ianto flushed a deeply unattractive colour, his mouth suddenly dry as he stood, humiliated and mortified, in the face of Jack’s words, in the face of Jack’s _accusations_. He knew exactly what Jack was implying here and it made his stomach roll with shame.

Ianto wanted desperately to feel anything other than disgraced as he stood before Jack’s desk, his mouth slack with shock, his eyes shining suddenly wet as the words struck at him in a way words never could before, but Ianto found that he couldn’t even summon the energy to be defensive, to deny something that should never have needed denying in the first place.

“Do me a favour, Jack,” Ianto said after a full minute of silence, his voice a breathless shake of words as he forced himself to talk. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe in my direction until you’re prepared to offer up an apology for those insinuations.”

He didn’t wait for Jack’s reply as he turned smartly on his heel and left. He lingered just long enough to grab up his jacket and car keys before storming out of the studio and hurrying to his car. By the time he’d slipped behind the steering wheel and pulled the car out into the main street, his face was wet with tears.


	10. Nine.

  
The first sign that anything was out of the ordinary, came in the form of Jack’s impression of an angry dinosaur,f as he stormed from his office to where the team were congregating in the staffroom for the few minutes they had left before the studio officially opened for the morning.  


He barked out his orders for the day, glaring at every single one of them bar Ianto whom he avoided looking towards at all costs before he stormed his way out again; the door to his office slamming closed behind him.

“What the fuck crawled up his arse and died?” Owen spat, indignant and accusatory as he turned to stare at Ianto who’d turned back to the coffee machine as if they’d not all just received an unprovoked tongue-lashing from their boss.

“Ianto?” Owen prompted after a minute of silence.

Ianto turned, raising his eyebrows enquiringly even as he began handing out mugs of coffee to everyone.

“Any idea what’s up with our beloved Captain?” Owen pressed, sarcastically. He took his coffee with a grumble.

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Ianto said, the epitome of politeness as he passed Gwen and Toshiko their mugs, unsmiling.

“Well, maybe a cup of your coffee will restore his good mood, huh?” Gwen said, smiling tentatively over the rim of her own mug.

“If Jack wants coffee,” Ianto began, smartly, “then he knows where the machine is.”

He promptly lifted his own mug, excused himself and proceeded to barricade himself inside his own cubicle.

The rest of the team watched him leave with varying expressions of disbelief.

“Did tea-boy just give Jack permission to _touch_ his coffee machine?” Owen gaped unattractively.

“I think we’ve just discovered who’s responsible for Jack’s foul mood, at least,” Toshiko replied, sipping at her coffee. Owen and Gwen looked at her inquiringly.

“Clearly there’s been some sort of altercation between Jack and Ianto,” She explained.

“Must’ve been some fight for Ianto not to even care about the coffee machine,” Owen muttered.

“Jack is the one more likely to suffer if he breaks it though,” Gwen rationalised, “have you any idea just much caffeine he consumes in a day? There’s no way he can justify sending us back and forth to Starbucks all day.”

“If he breaks it we all suffer, remember?”

Gwen shrugged. “There’s always coca-cola.”

Owen pulled a face. Toshiko appeared thoughtful.

“I think we should stock up the fridge, just in case,” she agreed and Gwen nodded.

“We can go at lunchtime?” She offered and Owen shook his head.

“How about we just make sure Jack doesn’t come near the machine?” Owen tried.

“And how do you propose we stop him?” Toshiko asked.

“One of us could make him some coffee?” Owen offered. “Except me. I’m as bad as Jack, really.”

“Don’t look at me,” Gwen laughed, “I’m only good with instant, and we all know how well a cup of that would go down right now.”

“Still, better than nothing?” Owen asked, but the girls just shook their heads at him. He crossed his arms, offended. “You two got any better ideas?”

Toshiko and Gwen shared a quick look between them before simultaneously putting their coffees down and heading towards the door.

“I’ll get the Starbucks,” Gwen said at the same time as Toshiko responded with, “I’ll see to Ianto.”

Owen sighed irritably as he was left alone in the staffroom. “And I suppose that bloody well leaves me with Jack,” he groused, throwing back the rest of his own coffee before manning it up and stomping his way towards Jack’s office.

\- - -

Toshiko knocked lightly upon the door to Ianto’s cubicle, her fingers twisting the handle open as Ianto’s quietly spoken ‘ _come in_ ’ reached her ears.

“Hey,” she said softly as she stepped into his space. He was sitting at his workbench; head bent over a new piece he was working on. From the rough pencil lines themselves, Toshiko knew that Ianto was trying to come up with a plausible replication of a photograph one of their clients was hoping to have tattooed onto her shoulder- the piece in remembrance of a son lost too soon. Toshiko remembered it because she’d taken the booking for Ianto herself, knowing that there was no one better to do such an obviously emotional piece.

Toshiko pulled up a chair and sat herself beside Ianto, watching as Ianto’s hand flew over the piece for a good few minutes before he made an irritable sound in the back of his throat and threw his pencil down.

“I’m not talking about it, Tosh,” He said, voice polite but tight, already knowing why Toshiko was in his cubicle watching him work.

“Okay,” Toshiko replied easily. Ianto slanted an irritated look towards her.

“Why are you here then?” Ianto asked, picking his pencil up again and making a few needless adjustments to the paper before him. Toshiko reached out and stilled his hand with a touch of her own.

“Just making sure you’re alright,” she began. She didn’t get much further however as Jack’s voice sounded angrily above the otherwise quiet of the shop as he shouted for Owen to ‘ _mind your own goddamned business if you know what’s good for you!_ ’. The outburst was swiftly followed by the sound of a door slamming and Owen cussing Jack like a sailor as he stomped his way towards Ianto’s cubicle.

Owen shoved Ianto’s door fully open, pointed an accusatory finger towards him and spat, “You! Fix it!”

Ianto shot to his feet before Owen had a chance to storm off of his own accord, his face clouded with what Owen saw to be unprovoked anger as he moved swiftly towards him and slammed the door shut in his face. Ianto’s hand pressed firmly against the wood of his door, his body shaking as he tried to calm the rush of fury running through him. Owen’s renewed cursing faded away as the other man moved off to lick his wounds.

“Ianto,” Toshiko’s voice called to him and Ianto sucked in a deep breath, his eyes closing as he held the inhale for a moment before gently exhaling, his shoulders slumping as he let his anger flow from him.

“I’ve got a consultation in an hour, Tosh,” Ianto said, reopening his door and stepping to the side, “I should really get to work on Mrs Bevan’s piece.”

Toshiko took that as her cue to leave. She paused long enough that Ianto looked up, meeting her gaze, before she leant in and kissed him on the cheek.

“You know where to find me,” was all she offered before stepping from the room and gently closing the door behind her.

Ianto slumped against the door, his head thumping back as he closed his eyes and tried to pretend that this day was just not happening.

\- - -

The atmosphere in the Torchwood studio lasted throughout the day with everyone tip-toeing around Jack and Ianto both. Owen, himself, was in an especially bad mood after his encounters with both men. And to make matters worse, one of Gwen’s clients- a lovely older lady by the name of Estelle who was looking to get the name of her lost lover tattooed upon her shoulder- had turned out to be a fainter. As the resident First Aid officer, Owen had been called in to see to Estelle and to ascertain as to whether she was alright or not, a task hindered by the pet cat she’d brought in with her- a vicious little thing who tried to claw Owen’s skin off every time he got too close to her.

To top off an already bad day, everyone at Torchwood found themselves so busy with booked and non-booked appointments that they had to make do with Gwen’s attempt at instant coffee since it was very clear that unless you were paying for a consultation or actual tattoo, Ianto was off-limits to all, including the coffee machine.

By the time five o’clock eventually dragged itself around, Gwen was practically running to the door with the keys jangling in her hands. She fell back against the door with a sigh, looking over to Toshiko and Owen who were propping themselves up against the reception desk to save falling into boneless heaps upon the floor.

The moment of relief lasted seconds only as a knock to the glass of the door sounded.

“We’re closed!” Gwen all but yelled as she spun on her heel to face whichever poor soul had the misfortune to try and get in after closing. Instead of the random stranger she’d been expecting to see, when Gwen turned it was to find herself face-to-face with Michael Schofield who was, as far as she could tell, at least an hour early for his appointment.

Gwen hurriedly unlocked and opened the door, ushering Michael into the studio before locking the door tightly behind her.

“You have to fix him!” Gwen squeaked out by way of greeting, her eyes comically wide as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with nervous energy. Michael frowned with bemusement, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he watched Gwen’s antics.

“Fix who?” He asked.

“Ianto!” She blurted out, “You have to fix him!”

Michael frowned, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Well if we knew that, he’d be fixed by now,” Gwen said, seriously. Michael shot a look towards Toshiko and Owen, the pair of them providing only a nod and a shrug of agreement.

“I’ll just-,” he gestured towards the back rooms and Gwen all but shoved him towards Ianto’s cubicle.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Michael asked, stepping into Ianto’s workspace. Ianto looked up, surprised both at the interruption and at the fact it was late enough in the day to be Michael interrupting him.

“Leave the door open,” he muttered as Michael made to close it behind him. He frowned, looking speculatively towards Ianto. Ianto said nothing, only gestured him towards the bed-chair and began his show and tell for the use of brand new needles and such for every session.

Slowly, Michael stripped his shirt off and slipped onto the bed-chair, eyeing Ianto and noting the way he looked at everything else bar him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that there had been repercussions to their interruption the previous night.

“Look,” Michael began, “I’m sorry if-,”

“Don’t,” Ianto said quickly. “The door is open for a reason.”

He said nothing further as he moved closer and transferred the newest part of Michael’s design onto his skin. Michael kept his own silence, watching as Ianto peeled the carbon paper away and asked him to confirm the placement, which he did with the merest of nods. Their session began in silence. A sound broken up only by the humming of the tattooing gun as Ianto worked on his left side, and the shuffling of feet as one by one, Ianto’s team-mates walked slowly past his opened door, peering intently within as they passed as if hoping to source out the reasons behind the foul mood he shared with Jack.

If they were expecting some sort of big reveal, they were to be disappointed. Even Michael could see that by leaving his door open during their session together, Ianto was spiting them all by showing them that he had nothing to hide. Michael wondered what Jack had said to him last night but bit his tongue against asking.

The third time somebody stopped outside Ianto’s cubicle, Ianto paused in his work, looking up and staring, expressionlessly, towards the person standing there. Michael glanced around, craning his neck and seeing that it was Jack. Jack who stared at them both a long moment without comment before he turned on his heel and left them.

Turning back to Ianto, Michael raised an eyebrow in question. Ianto said nothing.

The rest of their session continued on in the same vein.

By the time Ianto was finished the latest segment, Michael was more than ready to leave _Torchwood_ for the night.

\- - -

Ianto slumped against his workstation after seeing Michael out of the shop. He was glad to see that the rest of the team had taken the hint and left for the night as well, leaving only Ianto and Jack- who had tucked himself away in his office after his vigilante moment- in the shop.

After forcing himself to clean up his workstation and pack away Michael’s designs, Ianto found himself hesitant over how next to proceed. He knew he should let Jack know that he was done and that he would be leaving shortly, but at the same time he’d really rather not speak to Jack at all. The man hadn’t said anything to him the entire day and Ianto was feeling more and more pissed off with Jack than anything else.

In the end, Ianto wrote him a post-it note and pinned it to the front of Jack’s office door, knowing that Jack would know he’d been there and he was certain that the Captain’s curiosity would get the better of him and he’d check before long.

That done, Ianto left the shop. He locked up after himself and headed towards his car, more than a little surprised to see that Michael was still there, waiting.

Michael stepped out of his car at Ianto’s approach.

“Is something the matter?” Ianto asked, worried that Michael was here about his tattoo or to complain about their latest session.

“No,” Michael answered, moving closer than was entirely appropriate, “please excuse my forwardness,” he said before taking a final step closer and bringing his mouth to Ianto’s in a deep and lingering kiss.

Startled, Ianto gripped at Michael’s arms, initially intent on pushing the other man away but finding that he clung to Michael instead, his mouth opening eagerly to Michael’s kiss.

“I assume I’m the reason you’re upset?” Michael asked, pulling slowly away.

“What?” Ianto asked, blinking a little dazedly up at him. Michael smiled a little smugly and Ianto tried very hard not to blush.

“No,” he eventually said, reprocessing Michael’s question. “I’m not upset.”

“Ianto, I might not know you as well as the rest of your team,” Michael pressed, “but I’m very much aware that being accosted by Gwen and told to ‘ _fix_ ’ you is a sign that not everything is going well.”

“She had no right,” Ianto frowned. Michael tugged him in for another kiss, waiting until Ianto was breathless before pulling back.

“She had every right. She was worried about you. And after tonight, I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be, I’m fine.” And to prove it, more to himself than to Michael, Ianto moved in to press his own kiss to Michael’s mouth.

\- - -

Michael proved to be far less resistant to Ianto’s advances this evening and Ianto wondered if Michael had only rejected him at the club because of his intoxicated and upset state. He certainly had no qualms about following Ianto back to his apartment as they left the _Torchwood_ premises and falling into bed with him not all that long after they’d made their way inside; intent on making sure Ianto couldn’t even remember a Captain Jack Harkness never mind why he was so angry with the man.

Ianto lay upon his stomach now, his head pillowed upon his arms as he smiled, sated, as Michael ran his hand along Ianto’s naked back; fingers tracing the lines and swirls of the tattoo spread out across his shoulder blades and the upper half of his back.

“What does it mean?” Michael asked, his voice a gentle murmur of words and Ianto closed his eyes, content to simply lie there and let Michael touch him.

“Which part?” Ianto answered, eyes still closed, imagining his tattoo- dubbed by his colleagues at work as his ‘ _tree of life’_ \- which was of a large artistically designed tree, its branches stretching out and curling over his flesh, as small, symbolic images were scattered amongst its branches.

Michael’s fingers continued to dance over his back and Ianto shivered gently. “The flowers?” he asked, pressing a little at a spot near Ianto’s spine.

“Daffodils,” Ianto said with smile, seeing in his mind the yellow flowers scattered about the tree’s roots, symbolising Wales, “to remind me of home.”

Michael moved his fingers up Ianto’s spine, his nails scratching lightly against his skin and making Ianto shiver with the touch.

“The scales?” he asked, splaying his hand out over the space where the image sat.

“To remind me of my life before Torchwood, when I was studying law,” Ianto replied.

“The bird?” Michael asked, shifting closer to press a soft kiss to the image of a bird taking flight from one of the reaching branches.

“A lovebird,” Ianto corrected but said no more, opening his eyes and pushing up onto his elbows.

Michael lay himself down beside him, smiling languidly at Ianto as he reached for him, pulling him down for a long, unhurried kiss; their mouths pressing close and their bodies even closer as their kissing turned to touching and tasting and the slow rocking of hips into one another.


	11. Ten.

  
The morning after the night before saw Ianto leaving his apartment at his usual time; Michael leaving him, with a promising kiss, only minutes earlier as they both made their way to their respective jobs.  


Though there could be no untoward sign that anything had happened the previous night, the moment Ianto stepped into work that morning he felt the smile he’d been sporting slip from his face almost instantaneously as he saw Owen and Jack- heads bent at the counter as they conferred on something or other.

Ianto felt the first stirrings of doubt, and guilt, over what had transpired between himself and Michael the night before and he frowned, hating himself for feeling even the slightest bit like he’d somehow betrayed Jack. Jack, the man who would flirt with anyone who happened to catch his attention. Jack, who’d only nights ago disappeared with another man Ianto knew to be a past lover. Jack who was always telling not-so-tall tales of previous lovers as if nothing in the here and now could ever be so good.

Jack, who had yet to apologise for his insinuations against Ianto.

Ianto, averting his gaze just as Jack looked up to acknowledge his entrance, felt suddenly as if Jack had maybe been justified in his worries over Ianto’s own fidelity after all.

Turning his eyes back to Jack, Ianto could almost see the second Jack put two and two together and came up with Ianto and Michael, together. There should have been no way to tell, no way at all to come to the conclusion that between their fight and now that Ianto had slept with Michael, but he did. Ianto could see that he knew.

Jack stood a little straighter, saying something to Owen who looked between the pair of them with a frown as Jack nodded his head at Ianto, indicating the direction of his office. Ianto followed him, wordlessly.

“Michael?” Jack said without hesitation as Ianto stepped into his office, closing the door behind him.

“Yes,” Ianto answered, knowing there would be no point in lying to Jack, and not really wanting to either.

“You said there was nothing going on between you two.” Jack circled his desk, seating himself and gesturing for Ianto to follow suit, which he did without argument.

“There wasn’t.” Ianto said.

“But there is now?” Jack asked, eyes narrowing. Ianto looked away. “These things don’t just happen, Ianto.”

Ianto said nothing. “You’re not that easy.” Jack prompted and Ianto didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted by the comment. He shot Jack a hot look. Jack clenched his jaw and looked away, breathing through his building anger.

“Why?” He asked after a while and Ianto clenched his fingers in his lap, trying not to fidget.

“Why not?” He asked instead, biting at the insides of his mouth. He sounded petulant even to his own ears.

“Jesus, Ianto!” Jack hissed, “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

Ianto’s eyes flashed towards him, his look dangerous. “Don’t I mean anything to you?” He threw the question back to Jack but gave him no time to answer. “Do I grill you about the lovers you take? Do I make an issue over your infidelity to me? I’ve never demanded monogamy from you Jack, so why the hell are you trying to make me feel like the bad one here?”

Jack slumped back in his chair, his anger failing him in the face of Ianto’s own fury. “You never asked for it,” he said, softly, weakly.

“It’s not something I should have had to ask for,” Ianto snapped, watching Jack bristle at the comment.

“I suppose the same could be said of you,” he needled.

“Last night was the only time-,”

“-that you’re telling me about,” Jack interrupted and Ianto flushed an unattractive shade of red.

“Don’t you dare, Jack! How can you persecute me for this when it’s all you’ve ever done to me?”

“Ianto-,”

“No! Just no, damnit,” he cursed, looking away with anger, “How can it be alright for you to shag anything that catches your fancy but God forbid I show an interest in anyone else but you?”

Jack pressed his lips together and the silence between them, strained and tensed, stretched out for long minutes.

“Maybe we should think about taking a break,” Jack said slowly, breaking the quiet with his words.

“What?” Ianto gasped. Jack met his eyes with deliberateness as he spoke.

“I think we should take a break,” his words were more confident now and Ianto gaped at him, unsure how to react to them.

“You could go and have fun with Michael,” Jack added as if trying to sell the idea to him.

“Jack-,” Ianto choked out his name, but couldn’t find the words to tell Jack that no, that’s not what he wanted at all. He wanted to tell Jack than if he wanted Ianto to be his, and only his, that he would. All he had to do was promise to be his in return. He just wanted Jack to be his. His words stuck in his throat and he found himself unable to summon the courage needed to speak them aloud.

“It might be good for both of us,” Jack said.

“It won’t be good for either of us!” Ianto managed, heart thudding against his chest.

“I think you need this Ianto.” Jack said, his voice calm but a deliberate serious now, as if he’d already made up his mind that this was what they’d be doing. “You obviously want Michael. I’m giving you an out to have your fun with him without feeling guilty.”

“Jack, no,” Ianto breathed, feeling a prickling heat at his eyes and a burning in his throat. “It’s not Michael I want,” he whispered, pleadingly, but Jack turned his gaze away.

“That’s not what it looks like.”

“Jack, don’t… please don’t…”

“Go,” Jack said, ignoring his words and dismissing him in the same breath “Go be with Michael.”

Ianto sat there, too stunned to move. He felt as though he were in a dream- or a nightmare, rather- he felt sluggish and too-hot and as if he were about to break into a million tiny pieces as the first of his tears slipped past his eyes to trail down his flushed cheeks. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be the end of him and Jack. They couldn’t be… they couldn’t have…

Jack had just broken up with him.

Ianto found it in him to move then, jumping up and fleeing Jack’s office before the sobs he could feel building up inside of him could break free. He didn’t want this. He hadn’t expected this. But then… what _had_ he expected?

\- - -

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ianto spoke before the girls had even stepped foot into his cubicle just after lunchtime, which Ianto had deliberately missed taking in the staffroom. Toshiko and Gwen shared a surprised look behind his turned back even as they made their way into the room. Ianto sighed, turning, when the pair of them stopped paces behind him and proceeded to stare intently at the back of his head.

“What do you want?” He asked, his shoulders slumping slightly as he eyed Gwen and Toshiko suspiciously.

“Ianto-,” Gwen hesitated, noting the fresh puffiness to his eyes.

“What’s going on, Ianto?” Toshiko just came right out with it. Gwen nudged her with a frown and Ianto assumed that between them, they’d initially planned to ask him in a more round about way.

“Nothing I want to talk about,” he answered, turning back to his workbench and trying to ignore the pair of them.

“We know it has something to do with Jack,” Gwen ventured and Ianto frowned at the sketchpad before him.

“Well bully for you,” he snarled back.

“We know it has something to do with Michael,” Toshiko pressed and Ianto tensed at the mention of his name.

“Ianto-,”

“What part of I don’t want to talk about it, do you two not understand?” He hissed, turning back to them, his face flushed and angry. They looked surprised at his outburst but instead of leaving him as he’d expected, Toshiko and Gwen only stepped closer, arms hugging him tightly on either side.

He slumped against them after a long moment of holding himself tense; biting at the insides of his cheeks till they bled, trying to distract himself from the pain inside of him and the overwhelming want he had to break down and cry.

“I slept with Michael,” he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. Toshiko and Gwen said nothing and Ianto didn’t have it in him to question how they obviously already knew. He felt more tears slipping from his eyes. The girls' arms just tightened around him.

\- - -

His session with Michael that evening was as, if not more so, subdued as the one the previous night had been. Again most of the team lingered around the shop after closing and again Ianto left his door open, wanting to leave nothing to their imaginations as he worked on Michael’s tattoo with the utmost professionalism and dedication.

And if Michael happened to follow him home that evening, well, no one thought to mention it the next morning.


	12. Eleven.

  
Torchwood gradually fell back into a semblance of normality over the next couple of weeks, and though things between Jack and Ianto continued to be tense, (as break-ups between people who have to work together always tend to be) they’d managed to reach an unspoken agreement between themselves and proceeded to be unendingly civil towards one another.  


Everyone by now knew that something was going on between Ianto and Michael, though nobody wanted to outright talk about it for fear of adding to an already strained mood.

Michael continued to keep his evening sessions and the work on his tattoo began to reach a conclusion with Ianto surmising that another session or two ought to do it before the entire piece was complete. This knowledge served both to elate and depress the pair of them, for though they both admitted that there was something between them, potentially a something that could have, given time, turned into something more, they both knew it would never happen.

Michael had made it very clear to Ianto that once his tattoo was complete he would be leaving. He wouldn’t say where when pressed and so Ianto took what he could and let himself be content with that. If sometimes he lay awake at night, Michael warm at his side, thinking of Jack and missing Jack, well, he kept that to himself.

It had been a helluva three months, all in all, and Ianto found himself both relieved and distressed to have it come to an end. He dabbed a thin layer of _Retcon_ over the second to last section he’d just finished inking before taking a step back and running his eyes over the entirety of Michael’s upper body, marvelling at his own handiwork in bringing Michael’s design to life upon his skin.

Michael grinned up at him, all but bouncing with a nervous energy at knowing that the only thing standing between him and the completion of his tattoo was one last section on his left shoulder.

“Tomorrow?” Michael asked, eager and Ianto smiled with far less enthusiasm, nodding his head. He knew that if he hadn’t just spent the last few hours on Michael already, that the other man would have asked him to just finish him then and there.

“Thank you,” Michael said, standing and stepping close. He seemed to be thanking him for far more than his agreement however and Ianto felt himself begin to smile more genuinely.

“You’re welcome, Michael,” he returned, touching fleetingly at Michael’s arm before stepping back to put some distance between them. Michael turned then, dressing himself whilst Ianto did a quick tidy up of his workstation before taking Michael through to the front shop to pay.

“I’d like to see you tonight,” Michael said as Ianto handed him his receipt; fingers catching at Ianto’s hand and holding a moment as he met Ianto’s gaze with his intentions clear.

Mindful of anyone lingering around the shop (as had become the norm since his split with Jack) Ianto smiled whilst gently extracting his hand from Michael’s.

“Okay,” he said, and fetched his jacket.

\- - -

Michael slipped out of bed fairly early the next morning, dressing swiftly before taking a long, quiet moment to just watch Ianto as he lay, stretched out and sated on the bed they’d shared last night. He felt a nauseous excitement touch his stomach despite the spike of melancholy that washed over him as he looked at Ianto’s sleeping face and realised he’d never see it- never see him- again.

He stepped forward, bending at the waist to press a gentle kiss to Ianto’s brow, a whisper of goodbye touching but not leaving his lips as he slowly straightened- taking care to switch off Ianto’s alarm so as to ensure he would not be woken anytime soon- before he turned away and left the room, left Ianto’s apartment, and left Ianto for good.

Gwen was waiting for him when he arrived at _Torchwood_ , her expression endearingly confused as she let him in and led him through into the back room and her cubicle- a place he’d never ventured before. He was glad that she refrained from asking him any questions, knowing that if he were to start thinking about what he was doing again- if he were to think about what he was _leaving_ \- he just might not make it through this session in one piece.

He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, distracting himself from his macabre thoughts by pursuing the walls of photographs and artistic sketches Gwen had pinned up. He smiled, sadly, as his eyes came to rest on an unexpected picture of Ianto. Devoid of his usual suited getup, he instead wore what appeared to be a checked, flannel shirt and uncharacteristically baggy jeans as he sat- quite the thing- upon a motorbike; police-shades and a rugged beard adorning his face.

“It was taken not long after he started here,” Gwen said, stepping up beside him and following his line of sight, “it was so strange seeing him out of his suit and looking so _normal_ , I remember how we all just stared him, not sure what to say. He just grinned smugly at us for it, and somehow that just got us all laughing. It was a good day.” She reminisced, touching fondly at Ianto’s photo before unpinning it from the wall and slipping it into Michael’s hand.

Before Michael could protest, Gwen had turned to her tray of instruments and started the usual spiel on using fresh equipment before ordering him to remove his shirt and hop up onto her bed-chair.

Michael looked down at the picture in his hand a moment before slipping it into his pants pocket as he removed his shirt and slid onto the bed-chair; his heart hammering in his chest at the knowledge that this was it, this was to be the final part to the puzzle that was his tattoo. It was exciting. It was terrifying.

All he could think about, though, was that Ianto should be the one inking it.

\- - -

With his head down and his feet dragging along the pavement towards his car, Michael almost didn’t spot Ianto until he was practically standing on top of him. He looked up, surprised, to see the other man leaning- quite the thing- against the hood of his car; his arms folded across his chest as he watched Michael speculatively.

Michael hesitated, biting at his bottom lip in hesitation as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“I thought you’d at least say goodbye,” Ianto said softly. Although his voice was unassuming, Michael inwardly winced, knowing he’d left Ianto asleep in his bed whilst he’d come down here and coerced Gwen into finishing his tattoo for him, all so he wouldn’t have to face this, this moment right here.

“I hate goodbyes,” Michael said, clearing his throat and trying not to look as guilty as he felt. “They’re just so _final_.” He added.

“They don’t have to be,” Ianto tried, lips pinching together against his hopeful tone. Michael smiled at him, the look a little sad as he stepped closer.

“They have to be,” he said and Ianto nodded, understanding, and dropped his gaze away.

“Hey, at least you’ve still got this lot?” Michael said and Ianto gave him the expected smile.

“Yeah,” he agreed, uncrossing his arms and mirroring Michael by shoving his hands into his pockets instead.

“And Jack,” Michael tried, “you’ve still got him,”

Ianto turned away from Michael, staring unseeingly into the distance as he gave a sound of what was meant to have been agreement but came out more as a snort of disbelief.

Michael took hold of his shoulders, “You have a good thing with him, Ianto,” he pressed.

Ianto shook his head. “Whatever we had, it’s past tense now.”

“No, Ianto,” Michael continued, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, even with me in the picture. I’m only sorry I came between you two.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Ianto breathed out, still not looking at Michael. “Whatever Jack and I had, it was purely physical.” Ianto shook his head then, as if trying to shake himself out of the mood he felt himself sinking into.

“Never mind,” he muttered and Michael reached out, tilting at Ianto’s chin till the he looked up and into his eyes.

“No, Ianto, you’ve got it all wrong. Jack wants you. Not just your body, but everything that you are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ianto sighed, making to pull away.

Michael’s grip was stronger and he kept Ianto unmoving, his hand still holding Ianto’s face tipped up enough to look at him. “Maybe it’s none of my business, and maybe I’m not supposed to repeat this, but Gwen told me something this morning, I guess maybe she was warning me off, or at least warning me that if me and you got together you’d be looking for more than a bed buddy-,”

Ianto flushed and made to pull away from Michael again.

“No, just hold on a moment,” Michael said, holding fast, his hands moving to grip at Ianto’s forearms in a bid to keep him in place. “She told me that the whole time you were away in Wales, and even for a few months before that, that Jack was completely faithful. To you. She told me he’d been speaking to her, that he didn’t understand it himself but he didn’t want anyone else but you, that anyone else just felt like a bad substitution and he couldn’t enjoy anyone else knowing they weren’t you. Even when we were at the club… we both got it wrong, Ianto. We both got him wrong. I just… Ianto I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-,” Ianto whispered, his head down, his mind reeling from Michael’s words.

“I do.” Michael disagreed. “I didn’t realise you two were in love with each other.”

Ianto looked up then, mouth open and denial upon his lips. “We’re not-,”

“You are,” Michael said, smiling sombrely, “maybe you don’t realise it, but you are. I think everyone but you two see it.”

Ianto was shaking his head. Michael released him enough to reach up and cup Ianto’s face with his hands. He leant in and pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back.

“I hope you can forget me, Ianto Jones,” he said with a smile.

“I won’t,” Ianto replied in a tone that very much sounded like a promise. He returned the smile though, weak and shaky as it was. Michael leant in, kissing him again, before pulling away completely and moving round to the driver’s side of his car. Ianto pushed away from the hood and stepped back. Michael paused a moment, simply staring into Ianto’s eyes for a heartbeat before slipping into his car and driving away.

Ianto watched until the car disappeared at the next turn before turning and heading into the studio, a black cloud of wretchedness hanging over him as he stepped into the brightly lit reception room. He spied Owen manning the front counter but aside from looking up at his arrival, Owen surprisingly said nothing at all to him as he slipped past him and made his way towards the staff room where he could hear the soft murmurs of conversation between Toshiko and Gwen.

They stopped speaking the moment he entered the room and Ianto knew instantly that the topic of conversation somehow revolved around him. He suppressed a sigh and moved towards the sofa where Toshiko was sitting curled up on one end. Without a word he lay himself down beside her, his head resting on her lap. Toshiko began running a hand through his hair.

“I’ve ruined everything,” he said softly.

“Oh, Sunshine!” Gwen exclaimed moving over towards him. She perched herself on the edge of the sofa and joined Toshiko in petting him. “I’m sure you haven’t,”

“No,” Ianto began, “really I have. Michael’s left and Jack… I didn’t know Jack… didn’t think he’d… _God!_ ” He closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath, “I always just assumed that he’d never change. I never though to just ask him. Always thought I wasn’t… that I’d never be…”

“Good enough?” Toshiko asked quietly and Ianto found himself blinking moisture from his eyes.

“Oh, Ianto,” Gwen said in distress, bending forward to press a kiss to his brow. Ianto just shook his head, his throat too tight with emotion to speak.

“Oi!” Owen’s voice interrupted suddenly, “Why wasn’t I invited to this orgy?” he asked with mock disapproval.

They all looked up towards the doorway. Any scathing comments the girls were about to make however faded away upon spotting Jack as he stood beside the other man.

Ianto pushed himself up into a seated position as Toshiko and Gwen stood, bestowing quick hugs upon him before vacating the room with Owen in tow. Jack stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Ianto shifted on the couch, trying to compose himself as Jack moved to sit beside him.

“Jack,” Ianto began, shooting Jack a fleeting look before staring down at his hands.

Jack shushed him before he could speak and Ianto looked up at him with trepidation.

“I’m sorry, Ianto,” Jack said instead of the anticipated rebuke. Ianto looked at him with brief disbelief before he found his throat tightening once again and dropped his gaze.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Jack,” he whispered. “I should have… I _shouldn’t_ have…”

“I never gave you any reason to believe you could,” Jack continued when Ianto stalled for words. “I just assumed…”

Ianto scrubbed a hand across his face, “We should probably talk more,” he muttered; an agreement of sorts.

Unexpectedly, Jack laughed and Ianto looked up in surprise. Jack’s face softened as he reached out to touch lightly at Ianto’s cheek.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve both been idiots here,” he concurred, his eyes searching Ianto’s face and seeing the traces of his own grief reflected back to him.

“Ah, Ianto,” he breathed out and pulled the other man into his arms. Ianto went willingly, his hold tight and unrelenting as he clung to Jack just as desperately as Jack clung to him.

It would take time before things between them were _right_ , before they could both pick up where they left off and start afresh, redefining everything they thought their relationship together was and finding out what it actually could be. But they would do it, however long it took, they would try their damndest to make it work because, even though they’d never said the words, Ianto knew there was a spark of truth in Michael’s comment, and as he clung to Jack he breathed them into the fabric of his shirt, a silent pledging of love and apology and a promise to do everything he could to make this work between them.

It was what he’d always wanted from Jack. He was only sorry it took another man to make him realise the truth, though he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry that that other man was Michael.

\- - -

Not even a week after Michael’s final session at Torchwood, Ianto would find himself confronted by the man when he’d expected never to see him again; his picture headlining all the local news stations for holding up a bank and discharging a loaded firearm in the process. Jokes would be made (mostly by Owen) about the cost of his tattoo driving him to it but the girls would just smack at Owen for his insensitivity, Ianto would turn away, not quite able to believe the story himself and wondering… just wondering if all the ominous talking Michael had done during their sessions together hadn’t something to do with this. And Jack, Jack would just hug him tightly from behind, kissing his neck softly and Ianto would turn and smile at him, squeezing his hand in thanks as he deliberately pushed all thoughts of Michael from his mind.


	13. Epilogue.

  
“Did you hear?” Gwen asked, her eyes alight with disbelief as she accosted Jack and Ianto upon their arrival into _Torchwood_ one morning.

“Hear what?” Jack asked with a frown. Ianto shot him a bemused look as Gwen let out a squeal of impatience and grabbed at his hand, dragging him through towards the staff room and shoving him towards the sofa and she groped for the TV remote.

“I cannot believe you’ve not-,” she cut off as Toshiko rushed into the room.

“Have you seen it?” She demanded of Ianto with the same levels of shock and excitement emanating off of Gwen.

“He hasn’t!” Gwen muttered, her voice strained as she flicked through channels faster than the eye could catch.

Ianto smiled, shrugging self-depreciatively as Toshiko shot Ianto a disbelieving look before she hurried to squeeze herself onto one side of the couch. She took up his hand without preamble, all poise gone as she waited in tense anticipation for Gwen to find the channel she was looking for.

“Jesus,” Owen’s voice entered the staffroom before he did, “Who knew the guy had it in him?”

“He hasn’t seen it yet!” Gwen exclaimed with a whine, not taking her eyes off of the television.

Owen gaped at Ianto. “Are you shitting me?”

“Would someone mind telling us what’s going on?” Jack demanded, “And why, for that matter, it apparently revolves around Ianto?”

“Got it!” Gwen crowed in delight as she found one of the apparently elusive news channels, which was streaming the news of a prison break from Fox River Penitentiary.

Ianto’s mouth dropped open in shock as Michael Schofield’s picture came up on the screen as one of the inmates to have escaped just two months after being incarcerated. It wasn’t until the newsreader mentioned that they’d escaped directly from the prison onto Fitz Road that it all just _clicked_. Ianto found himself grinning in amazement as images of Michael’s elaborately designed tattoo, full of gothic imagery and tales of doing wrong to do right and fighting ones demons suddenly started to make a whole world of sense.

“You know something!” Gwen’s voice rang out suddenly and Ianto snapped his attention to her, a devious little smirk curling his lips.

“Who me?” He asked full of faux innocence. “Surely not!”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed on him, even Jack, Toshiko and Owen had turned to look at him. He laughed lightly and extracted himself from between Toshiko and Jack.

“Would anyone care for some coffee?” He offered, making his way over towards his coffee machine without waiting for any replies, knowing that none of them would ever refuse a cup from him.

He could still hear the news report and listened intently as they passed the story onto a consultant who was trying to theorise how they’d managed the break. More images flashed through Ianto’s mind even as his hands moved automatically over the machine before him, images of patterns in the flesh, of a map in the design, of nights spent tracing those hidden maps with his tongue and fingers and thinking he was seeing it all so clearly when in reality he’d never seen it so clearly as he did now.

Arms wrapped themselves about his waist, and Ianto started to feel the press of Jack’s body against him, catching him out of his daydream.

“Tonight,” Jack promised, purring his words into the space just below Ianto’s right ear, “I’m going to show you the same dedication to detail that you-,” he paused here to flick his tongue out over the lobe of Ianto’s ear, “-showed to that tattoo. I’m going to-,” he blew gently onto the wet patch of skin and delighted in Ianto’s shiver of anticipation, “-kiss every single inch of your body, Mr. Jones.”

He splayed his hands out over Ianto’s belly, petting his way lower and lower till Ianto was squirming to get out of his hold, spilling coffee beans in the process. He cursed, turning a playful glare towards Jack who merely laughed and stepped away, leaning himself against the kitchenette counter and watching as Ianto bent to clean up the spilt beans; his face hot and his breathing slightly uneven even as he tried not to think about Michael and his tattoo.

“And if you still have those sketches…” Jack hinted, leering a grin towards him.

At the implication in Jack’s words, Ianto ended up spilling the coffee beans all over again.

\- - -

 **The End.**

\- - -


End file.
